


The Heirloom

by AZGirl



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2019-09-17 21:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 33,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: Cardinal Richelieu calls in a debt that forces d’Artagnan to go to great lengths to repay it.





	1. The Debt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Celticgal1041](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticgal1041/gifts).



> This story is dedicated to Celticgal1041 in honor of her birthday. Happy Birthday, my friend! I hope you enjoy the story.

**ooooooo**

“Our most treasured family heirloom are our sweet family memories.” ~~~~~ William Faulkner 

**ooooooo**

 

 **Chapter One: The Debt**

“Ah, d’Artagnan,” Cardinal Richelieu said as the young Musketeer entered his office. “Thank you for meeting with me.” 

D’Artagnan gestured towards the three Red Guards that had escorted him. “I had a choice?” 

“Of course you had a choice,” the older man replied smugly. “You could have chosen to refuse my official summons, and I could’ve chosen to put you in the Châtelet for the night.” 

 “Some choice,” d’Artagnan quietly muttered, though it was loud enough for Richelieu to hear judging from the expression on the other man’s face. 

The Cardinal inexplicably ignored the impertinence of his attitude though the younger man had the feeling he would pay for that comment somewhere down the line. 

Suddenly looking as though the cat had caught the canary, Richelieu sent the guards out of the room. D’Artagnan had been accosted out on the street by the Red Guards who had escorted him into Richelieu’s office. None of his friends knew where he was, and they wouldn’t miss him for at least another hour. He could easily admit to himself that he was apprehensive of the other man’s intentions but was still curious as to why he had been summoned. However, now that any potential witnesses had been sent away, the Cardinal could accuse him of anything; no one in authority, except Captain Tréville, would believe the word of a lowly Musketeer over the First Minister’s. 

The man in question had been sifting through some papers on his desk ever since he’d sent the guards out of the room. Apparently not finding what he’s looking for, Richelieu turns towards shelving filled with scrolls and other papers and begins searching. D’Artagnan had no choice but to wait as the Cardinal searched for whatever it was the man was trying to find. Just when the Gascon was reaching the limits of his patience, the other man makes a muffled sound of triumph before turning from the shelving with a scroll in his hand. 

“Do you know what this is?” the Cardinal smugly asked. 

D’Artagnan had to bite his tongue to prevent an impolite answer from coming out of his mouth. “I’m sure I do not,” he managed in an even voice. 

“This is a list of all those in your region of Gascony who owe the Crown taxes.” The older man paused as if he expected d’Artagnan to comment. 

“And?” he said, playing along for the sake of ending the meeting as soon as possible. 

“ _And_ I’ve recently discovered that the d’Artagnans of Lupiac in Gascony owe quite a large amount of taxes.” 

“How can that be? I thought the Crown seizing the lands was to pay off the debt.” 

“No, the Crown seizing the lands was the _penalty_ for not paying the debt; it does not however remove the debt that you, as your father’s heir, must now repay.” 

D’Artagnan could not believe what he was hearing. His family’s farm had been razed to the ground by Labarge, and he’d received no reparations despite what the vile monster had admitted of his crimes before dying. Then the lands had been seized, he thought, in order to pay the taxes. His crops had been destroyed – there would have been no income to pay his debts. He’d had no choice but to allow the farmland that his great-grandfather had toiled and died on to provide for his descendants to go back to the Crown. It had been months since he’d lost his family’s land, and yet he still felt the shame of that loss every day. 

But that didn’t mean he trusted what the Cardinal was saying to him. Given his past dealings with the older man, he could not trust what was being said to him, especially in regards to any documents being presented to him. 

“Do you mind if I take a look at that document?” 

“Of course not,” the older man replied with a knowing smile, before handing it over. 

The young Musketeer untied the ribbon holding the document closed and unrolled the parchment. It was not blank, as he’d once thought possible, so he took the time to carefully scan its contents. He recognized the majority of the names listed upon the document and thought the sums owed to be within a reasonable amount. The parchment even looked worn and had some notations in the margins about payments that had been made. He noted the amount he owed and handed the document back once he retied the ribbon. 

“What happens next?” d’Artagnan inquired. “I’m sure you are well aware of the amount of income I receive as a Musketeer.” 

“Yes, I am,” Richelieu replied, trying and failing to look and sound sympathetic. He sat down at his desk and, bridging his fingers together, looked up at d’Artagnan. “Well, obviously you need to begin repaying the debt. But, as I have allowed others to pay in installments – with interest applied, of course – it seems only fair to allow a Musketeer in good standing the same opportunity.” 

“My thanks, Your—” d’Artagnan began but was interrupted. 

“ _But_ , as a gesture of good faith, I will require a significant down payment within the next three days, or I will have to demand the entire amount in full. _And_ if you cannot pay, you will then be thrown into prison for failure to pay your taxes and stripped of your commission. Is that understood?” 

D’Artagnan had to bite his bottom lip in order to keep saying from something that would make the situation worse for himself. 

“Understood, Your Eminence,” he eventually said. “And how much of a down payment do you require?” 

“Fifty percent,” Cardinal Richelieu said with a smug and satisfied smile. 

“Fifty percent! How—?!” he exclaimed in surprise and anger before abruptly stopping himself. 

He knew it would do no good to argue or bargain, especially when he was positive the outrageous amount he was being required to pay upfront was a form of revenge against him for his part in the Cardinal’s confession before the Queen. 

He forced himself to calm down, and after taking a deep breath, he said, “Very well, you shall have the money in three days’ time.” 

“Excellent,” the Cardinal said, practically crowing in victory over him. 

“And if I’m called away on the King’s business during the next few days?” d’Artagnan asked, wanting to make sure of where he stood in this ‘arrangement.’ 

“Then I will expect your down payment the morning following the day you return to Paris; the same will hold true if you are ever on a mission for the Crown. You will never be penalized for late payments so as long as your duty to the King is the cause.” 

Before he said or did anything that could be used against him, d’Artagnan nodded in acknowledgement of what had just been said and quickly left the room, making sure to hold his head up high despite the heavy weight which had just landed upon his shoulders.

 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Two: The Heirloom_

**ooooooo**


	2. The Heirloom

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Two: The Heirloom**

D’Artagnan was allowed to leave without any further harassment from the Red Guards. As he walked back towards the Musketeers’ garrison, he felt as if he was in a daze. 

How was he ever going to be able to repay such a sum, considering it was growing every day with interest? How was he even going to come up with the down payment? 

He had three days in which to come up with the money or he would lose his commission. His friends had just barely ceased teasing him about the newness of his uniform, and now he might not be wearing it much longer. Would his misfortunes never cease? 

Aside from gaining his commission, it had been one loss after another after another for far too long now. He did not think he could bear the loss of his commission so soon after winning it or the shame of being put in prison for being unable to pay his taxes. 

But what options did he have? 

Living day-to-day, he had no money put away and only his horse and weapons to sell. It was possible to get by without a horse as he knew Tréville kept reserve mounts in case something happened to a Musketeers primary mount. However, there was no way he could part with his weapons and still be able to function as a Musketeer. 

Besides, if he sold either, his friends would know something was wrong with him, and he couldn’t bring himself to burden them with his troubles nor could he deal with their pity. 

Briefly, he thought of asking Athos for a loan, but decided that was out of the question. He’d never seen a friendship survive when there was money owed between two friends, especially when he had little hope of repaying the debt. Though the loss of his commission would be difficult to bear, what would outright kill him would be the loss of his friendships with Aramis, Porthos, and especially Athos.   

He had to figure out some other way to come up with… 

A possible solution suddenly sprang to mind, causing him to stop abruptly in the street. His shoulder was roughly bumped as a man just barely managed to avoid crashing into the back of him. As the middle-aged man continued walking down the street, D’Artagnan could hear a multitude of curses directed towards him flowing from the man’s mouth. 

The Gascon ignored the insults as he slowly resumed walking towards the garrison. As he considered and reconsidered his idea, his stride quickened. He now knew what he had to do. 

It would make him a disgrace to his family and unworthy to carry the d’Artagnan name, especially because of the vow he’d made, yet he dared to believe his ancestors would not wish him to languish in prison either. 

He hoped they would forgive him for what he was about to do. He hoped he could someday forgive himself. 

ooooooo 

D’Artagnan flipped the item he held in his hands over and over again, fascinated by how the light of the sun danced over it and made it sparkle. It made him recall the first time he’d held it after having not seen it in many years. 

_Three months after he’d received his commission, d’Artagnan was staring at the package he had in his hands.  
_

_Captain Tréville had wisely waited for his three friends to be otherwise occupied before summoning him up to his office. They both knew that Aramis, Athos, and Porthos would want to involve themselves regardless of the reason their young friend had been called up to see their captain.  
_

_It turned out that the matter was a personal one. While they’d been out on a mission, one of d’Artagnan’s former neighbors had come to the garrison looking for him. Monsieur Tremaine had been in Paris on business and had stopped by to deliver a package, which he’d left with Captain Tréville.  
_

_D’Artagnan had mixed feelings regarding having missed seeing his former neighbor. He was sorry to have missed catching up with someone he had known his whole life. But, at the same time, he was relieved because he’d only just been informed the month prior of the seizure of his family’s lands by the Crown. He felt Monsieur Tremaine would be disappointed in him, and he did not need a reminder of what he imagined his father’s own disappointment would have looked like. He already felt partially to blame for his father’s death; to lose his lands as well was just one more stone on top of a mountain of regrets.  
_

_Monsieur Tremaine must have explained the contents of the parcel because the captain offered him the privilege of privacy in which to open it. He would not hear of the captain vacating his office but did kindly accept a secluded part of the Armory in which to open the box he was holding in his hands.  
_

_He unsheathed his dagger and cut away the knotted strings keeping the simple, wooden box sealed. Removing the lid, he saw a folded piece of parchment lying on top of some straw. He removed the parchment, set the box down on a nearby table, and began reading.  
_

_It was a letter from Monsieur Tremaine explaining the box and its contents as well as recent developments regarding what had so recently been d’Artagnan’s lands. The news: his neighbor had been granted the rights to what remained of his family’s farm. Because his father and his former neighbor had been friends all their lives, d’Artagnan could not think of a better person to take over the land. He reasoned that it was better that the lands were in the hands of someone he knew rather than some stranger.  
_

_Tremaine’s sons had recently begun clearing the debris from his burnt out home and they’d miraculously found several items that had survived the devastating fires Labarge had set. Those items were now contained within the box. Monsieur Tremaine concluded by giving his condolences over Alexandre d’Artagnan’s death and expressing his hopes that young d’Artagnan would continue to prosper in his new life in Paris. If the son of his best friend ever needed anything, all he had to do was ask.  
_

_Eyes burning and throat tight, d’Artagnan refolded the letter and picked up the box. Underneath the straw, was a piece of sackcloth which he peeled back to reveal what little had survived Labarge’s destruction. He almost dropped the box when he caught his first glimpse of the items. The young Gascon had been ten or twelve when he’d last laid eyes on them.  
_

_His father had wanted d’Artagnan to know where the family’s most precious items were kept as well as share the histories behind them. There had been a secret door under his parents’ bed which led to a small, deep hiding space covered by several clay bricks. At the bottom of the recess was a crude, metal box in which the treasures were stored.  
_

_D’Artagnan had thought everything he had owned to have perished and yet, somehow, someway, these precious mementoes had survived. The fact that he was holding this box of items today was a testament to the true friendship between the two families over the years. The Tremaines could have kept the items and d’Artagnan would never have known the difference. He sent a silent prayer of thanksgiving to God for preserving something of his family from utter destruction by fire and asked for the Tremaines to be blessed for the immense acts of honesty and kindness towards him and his family.  
_

_Picking up the smallest item, he almost dropped it when he recalled what it was – his mother’s wedding ring. His father had saved it for him so that one day he would be able to give it to his bride. Immediately, his thoughts turned to Constance, but he quickly forced them aside. The way she had been so callous with his feelings still left him feeling hurt and angry. He had known she was married and that adultery was a sin, but he couldn’t help loving her and had thought she loved him. More stones to add to his mountain of failures and regrets.  
_

_He quickly put the ring down and picked up what was easily the most valuable item – a gold brooch encrusted with small jewels.  
_

_Though he did not remember the name of the ancestor, he did recall that the item had been handed down from his mother’s side of the family. One of his maternal ancestors had been of the nobility before she had been disowned for marrying below her station. His father said that there had once been other jewelry belonging to the ancestor but that this particular item was the only one which remained in the family.  
_

_He turned the brooch towards the light coming from the window he was standing next to and was just as fascinated as he’d been when he was young at how the light had made the gems sparkle. It had been his mother’s most precious heirloom, and his father had once shared with him about how proud he’d been that he had managed to hold onto the piece even through the farm’s most difficult times.  
_

_A noise from outside had startled him out of his memories and he’d stepped back into the deepest shadows of the Armory. From the sound of the voice, it was Athos inquiring of their captain of his whereabouts. Tréville had shown continued compassion by not revealing his presence and even going so far as to suggest places to look.  
_

_Once Athos had gone, d’Artagnan had quickly finished his inventory of the items and resealed the box. He was at a loss as to what to do with the box, and sought Captain Tréville’s advice in the matter. The captain offered to keep it safe along with other items he had stored for other Musketeers. D’Artagnan readily agreed and profusely thanked Tréville for his kindnesses of that day.  
_

_As he left the captain’s office, he vowed that he would hold on to his family’s few remaining treasures so that future generations of d’Artagnans would also have a piece of their family’s history._

He had almost forgotten about the box until today, and had just come from Captain Tréville’s office where he’d asked for his box. The Gascon could tell Tréville had questions but must have seen he would get no answers from his youngest Musketeer. D’Artagnan had asked if he could have a moment in the Armory, taking the brooch from the box and hiding it within the folds of his doublet. He’d returned the box to his captain and quickly left the office. 

Managing to avoid his friends, d’Artagnan left the garrison and headed outside the city on horseback, needing to be alone for a little while. He had no idea how long he had been gone or how long he’d been sitting turning the brooch over and over in his hands admiring the way sun’s light made the precious heirloom sparkle and shine. 

D’Artagnan hated he was going to have to break his promise to himself. He was also disgusted with himself that he had to give up this link to his ancestors. He was ashamed he had to sell the heirloom for money to pay off his debt. And he was disappointed that he had yet another stone to add to his mountain of failures. 

The only bright side to this whole affair was that he would be able to briefly wipe the smug smile off of Cardinal Richelieu’s face when he presented the required down payment on the day it was due. The Cardinal was so certain he had won a victory over someone who had crossed him, that it would be a great pleasure to correct him of his assumptions. 

Given his monetary situation, it was rather discouraging to think about how this victory would not last for very long.

 

ooooooo 

_Next time_ _: Chapter Three: The Down Payment_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who celebrate: Merry Christmas!!! I hope you have a blessed day and enjoy spending time with your friends and family. And, just in case, Happy New Year 2019!


	3. The Down Payment

**ooooooo**  


**Chapter Three: The Down Payment**  


Early on the third day, d’Artagnan was en route to see the Cardinal, thinking about the meeting he was soon to have.  


He had been surprised by how much was able to get for the brooch. Through some discreet inquiries, he had learned of a couple of reputable dealers in fine jewelry. The day after he’d retrieved the brooch from Tréville’s care, he visited one then the other before playing their offers against each other. In the end, he was able to get what he considered to be a significant sum for his ancestor’s brooch. He’d had no idea it had been hand-crafted by a well-known artisan.  


The amount he’d received would more than cover the 50 percent down payment that the Cardinal had required. In fact, he thought he had enough left over to easily cover up to a couple months’ worth of payments without dipping too much into his earnings from the Musketeers. Still, he would have to plan for the future and begin managing his funds even more carefully than he already did.  


When he approached the Cardinal’s office, the Red Guards stationed outside started giving him grief, but he refused to let their taunts get to him. He didn’t want to compound his troubles any further by acting in such a way that would earn him a reprimand or something worse.  


Finally, just as his patience was wearing parchment thin, he was granted an audience with Cardinal Richelieu, who looked as though he was expecting d’Artagnan’s pleas for mercy before sending him to prison anyway. D’Artagnan maintained a blank expression as much as possible as he approached the older man so that he would not prematurely give the game away.  


“Ah, d’Artagnan,” the Cardinal said as he approached. “Thank you for your promptness this morning. I trust you have managed to scrape together your down payment.”  


Ignoring the indirect insult towards his financial status, he reached into his doublet to retrieve a small sack of coins. Stepping forward, he gently placed it on the desk in front of Richelieu as he replied, “Yes, Your Eminence, I have. Fifty percent, as requested.”  


He immediately stepped back and was hard pressed not to smile triumphantly at the look of shock and disbelief on the other man’s face.  


Patiently, he waited for the Cardinal to count every coin, enjoying the increasingly sour expression on Richelieu’s face. Finally, the other man finished counting and looked up at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. A moment later, the man’s face cleared and had shifted into what d’Artagnan would consider to be a calculating expression.  


“Yes, well,” Richelieu paused slightly before continuing. “As you have fulfilled your end of the bargain, I will fulfill mine. Ten percent of the amount you just gave me will be due on this day every week. I will _not_ tolerate late payments unless you are engaged in the King’s business. Is that understood?”  


“Of course,” d’Artagnan said, attempting to school his expression to prevent the Cardinal from realizing just how difficult it was going to be for him to make his payments.  


“And if you are late, the full amount remaining plus interest will be immediately due or you _will_ face the consequences.”  


“Of course,” the Gascon repeated, attempting to sound bored with the conversation though on the inside he was screaming.  


Ten percent per week?! That meant the money he had left over from the sale of the brooch wouldn’t last anywhere near as long as he’d thought it would. He would have to be extremely frugal from here on out.  


The Cardinal waved him off, and as he had left d’Artagnan said, “Until next time.”  


It had been a pathetic attempt to keep the upper hand when, in reality, he had already lost it days ago. His actions had only bought him some time, and he was essentially delaying the inevitable. He would eventually lose this fight, but at least he’d had the momentary satisfaction of briefly wiping the Cardinal’s smug expression off of his face.  


The guards harassed him even more as he was leaving, but he was so caught up in thoughts of the recent meeting that he barely paid the men, or what they had said, any mind.  


D’Artagnan had a lot of planning to do if he was to figure out how he was going to maintain making his payments for as long as possible. He would do his best to pay his family’s debt, but it seemed as if he was destined to fail.  


At least he’d accomplished his heart’s desire and had become a Musketeer, but regrettably his misfortunes were continuing to plague him. Even though he had not yet lost his commission, it seemed inevitable and he already felt its loss keenly.  


He wondered how it was possible that he could still be alive when his heart was broken.

 

ooooooo  


_Next time_ _: Chapter Four: The Count_  


**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for proofing. Any remaining mistakes are my migraine’s fault.


	4. The Count

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Four: The Count**

D’Artagnan was so caught up in his thoughts that he managed to return to the garrison without being aware of either his surroundings or his route. 

He honestly hadn’t realized his whereabouts until a hand grabbed his arm. Startled, he pulled away even as he reached for his sword, but aborted the motion when he recognized just who had stopped him. 

“Athos! My apologies. My mind was elsewhere.” 

“I noticed when you didn’t hear me repeatedly calling your name.” 

Not knowing how to respond, d’Artagnan shrugged and repeated, “My apologies.” 

“You missed breakfast,” Athos casually stated though it sounded more like a question. 

D’Artagnan had to quickly think of a reason why he’d not been at breakfast. “I wasn’t hungry, so I went for a walk.” 

Handing him an apple, Athos tilted his head and reminded, “The four of us were to breakfast before Porthos and Aramis headed out, then you and I were to practice swords.” 

The young Gascon brought his unburdened hand up to rub his eyes and mumbled a curse. This wasn’t the first time he had forgotten an appointment or made a mistake in the last three days. 

“I beg your forgiveness, Athos; I forgot.” 

“Evidently,” Athos drawled before narrowing his eyes. “Are you alright, d’Artagnan?” 

Again d’Artagnan struggled with what to say. There was no way he could tell the truth, and he knew saying he was fine would not be believed. He swiftly came up with a partial truth. 

“I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot lately. It would have been her birthday this week.” 

While it was definitely true that he’d been thinking about his mother, it was still a couple of months until her birthday. 

Athos’ narrowed eyes softened, and he laid a hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder, gently squeezing it before letting go. Knowing Athos was not one for overt signs of affection or caring, the hand on his shoulder meant a lot to him. He tried not to think about how he’d basically just manipulated his best friend towards such a response. 

“Shall we spar?” Athos asked. 

“Sure,” d’Artagnan said, not meeting Athos’s eyes, and instead looking at a point over the older man’s right shoulder. He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the latrine. “Give me a few minutes?” 

Athos nodded and walked away towards the main courtyard. At first, d’Artagnan headed towards the latrine, but as soon as he lost sight of his friend, he went in a completely different direction. Taking the back way into the barracks building in which he slept and seeing no one else in the room, he walked straight towards the trunk at the foot of his bed. 

The trunk was really too big to hold his meagre belongings, but he readily accepted the disparity as yet another reminder of his life’s misfortunes. He knew this errand of his could have waited, and that he was risking discovery of his troubles, but d’Artagnan thought it prudent to begin making plans as soon as possible. For that to happen, he needed one crucial piece of information. He couldn’t explain it, but for some reason he just had to know it as soon as possible. 

D’Artagnan tossed the apple that Athos had given him onto his bed and opened his trunk, kneeling in front of it. In his eyes, the most valuable item within it was the wooden water flask his father had made him nearly a decade ago. Not long before the King’s mother had briefly returned to cause trouble, his flask had been damaged while he’d been on a mission. He had tried to repair it with a piece of cork but the repair hadn’t held. Refusing to part with the flask, he kept it in his trunk as one of the few items left in his possession that he had to remind him of his parents and former life in Gascony. 

At the time, he couldn’t afford to buy a new water flask, but his friends had surprised him with a new one after he’d almost fainted from the heat on their next mission. He’d had to withstand a lengthy lecture about informing them about such things as would affect the outcome of a mission. But, in the end, he’d been presented with a new, well-made flask. 

D’Artagnan had been very touched by how much his friends seemed to care about his well-being, which was another reason why he wasn’t sharing his problems with them. His friends would try to help him and, as a result, the Cardinal would find a way to destroy them too; there was no way he would allow that to happen. Besides, this was his problem, a matter of honor for his family, regardless of the size of it. He could and _would_ handle this on his own.   

By accident, he’d discovered that the hole in the flask was just big enough for coins to pass through and he’d taken to hiding what little money he had in it. Taking a moment to check that none of his bunkmates were around, he emptied his flask and quickly counted his funds. Returning everything to its rightful place, he raced towards the courtyard, hoping Athos had not cared how long he had been gone. 

Now that he knew the remaining proceeds from the brooch’s sale, he could begin calculating in his head just how much, or rather, just how little he had left to live on after making his weekly payment. He was certain that he would have to come up with even more ways to save money so that he could pay his debt. 

As he approached, Athos lifted his eyebrow in question. 

Recalling that he’d forgotten his apple, he used it as an excuse, “I took time to finish my breakfast and get something to drink.” 

Athos hesitated briefly before nodding and unsheathing his sword. D’Artagnan turned his back and mentally sighed in relief as he unsheathed his own sword. At the same time, shame and guilt crept up on him for how easy the lies seemed to be coming to him now. 

His best friend hated liars and abhorred secrets, knowing firsthand how destructive both could be to people one cared about. D’Artagnan felt certain that his lies would one day catch up to him and that their friendship would take a severe blow, if not obliterate it altogether. He could only pray that would not happen until after this whole mess was over. Once he was in prison and stripped of his commission, he would be a convict and would no longer have need of any friends. 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Five: The Lies_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder… The next chapter will be up in two weeks.


	5. The Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> ** Warning ** Brief mentions/thoughts about suicide.  
> .

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Five: The Lies  
**

Seven weeks later, d’Artagnan’s life seemed to consist of only two things: duty and deceit. 

There was not a day, and barely even an hour, that went by when he did not lie to his friends. They had definitely noticed the changes in his behavior, and had tried to talk to him, but he’d dodged most attempts or, when cornered, refused to admit anything was going on with him. 

Because of him, their friendships were suffering, and as a consequence, they were out of sync when out on missions. Their ability to communicate had suffered and mistakes were being made more often than not – mostly by him because he was so distracted by the problems his ever-looming debt was causing him. 

It was getting to the point where he was seriously considering asking Captain Tréville to assign him to another team of Musketeers. Not that he really wanted to be teamed up with anyone else, but he felt that one day Athos, Porthos, or Aramis would pay the price for his mistakes. He may as well put a bullet in his head if something were to happen to one of his brothers, not that he was worthy enough to call them brothers any longer. D’Artagnan was surprised that Tréville hadn’t already either reprimanded him or assigned him to different duties; in his mind, it was only a matter of time. 

Once he’d calculated his budget, he’d known that he’d only have about five sous to live on each week. With extreme economy, he thought he might be able to make it on three sous per week. 

Thank God room and board were provided by the King for his Musketeers or he’d have been living out on the streets long before now. As it was, he’d had to eschew the company of his friends no matter how many times they tried to cajole him into accompanying them to one tavern or another. He simply could not afford any creature comforts at the moment and was doing everything he could possibly think of to save money so he could continue to pay his debt and remain a Musketeer despite knowing it was a losing battle. It was becoming harder and harder not to let himself fall deeper and deeper into despair. 

Stealthily getting up in the middle of the night had become a commonplace occurrence for him so that he could personally take care of things he used to pay to have done, like his laundry. He really needed a new shirt, but he had been making due with patching up the two he had. Some of his horse’s tack was worn and needed replacing, but thus far he’d managed to get by making what repairs he could. He was well aware that the repairs, no matter how many times he made them, would not hold up forever; it was only a matter of time before something failed. 

The falsehood he felt the most ashamed about was the fictitious relationship that he’d created with a woman he’d named “Rachelle” to explain away his weekly absences from the garrison. His friends were under the impression that he was spending one night a week with “Rachelle,” when in reality he was camping outside the city’s walls regardless of the weather. 

On those nights, he had no food and no fire, and basically got no sleep, which had the unintended side-effect of lending credibility to the idea that he’d moved on from Constance.  The next morning, he would drop the next installment of his debt payment off with the Cardinal, who seemed to know that he was struggling with making the weekly payment. D’Artagnan knew his downfall was imminent and that it wouldn’t be long before he would have to admit his defeat; it was also obvious Cardinal Richelieu was well aware of this fact. All he had to do was keep his friends from sharing in his ruin for a little while longer. 

His missed his friends’ companionship. O God, did he miss them. 

D’Artagnan saw them every day, he trained beside them, and worked alongside them, but they were slowly becoming strangers to him. Except for the day his father was buried, he had never felt so alone in his entire life. 

It was impossible to tell what they thought of him now as they rarely went beyond surface conversation with him even when they were out on missions. Several times he’d stumbled upon them conversing in low voices, but they would stop when they noticed him approaching. 

They were obviously losing their patience with him, and he expected a major confrontation any day now. It seemed as if they barely cared what happened to him anymore, and he couldn’t help but agree with them. What happened to him truly _didn’t_ matter any longer. 

He was running out of money no matter what he did. At this rate, he would be out of funds completely in two or three weeks unless he sold his horse or his mother’s wedding ring. At best, it would only buy him a reprieve of only a few extra weeks. Then what? 

The rest of the ‘treasures’ in his box really weren’t worth selling, being of purely sentimental value unless he could get a few sous from a junk dealer. If he was lucky, the amount he got plus his earnings as a Musketeer just might buy him yet another week. Yet, if he did that, it still wouldn’t be enough to finish paying off his debt to the Crown. 

At this point, he just wanted it to be over. And, in a few weeks, it _would_ be all over. In a few more weeks he would no longer have his freedom, and in only a few more weeks he would no longer be a Musketeer. He would be hard pressed to decide which of the two situations was worse or depressed him more. 

He was so worn down both mentally _and_ physically that he was now actually looking forward to the end of his current, miserable existence. 

Perhaps, if he were truly fortunate, there would be a mission treacherous enough to claim his life. Maybe he could save the life of one or more of his friends and make up for his deplorable behavior towards them over the last couple of months. 

If that happened, would his wanting that outcome be considered suicide by the Church? He didn’t want to go to Hell, but it seemed almost better than the hell he was going through on earth. 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Six: The Decision_

**ooooooo**


	6. The Decision

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Six: The Decision**

D’Artagnan had believed things would come to a head with the Cardinal and his debt long before they did with his friends and the Musketeers, but he was wrong. 

He was called into Tréville’s office along with his three comrades late one morning. They were to be sent to bring back a young noble who had newly-inherited a barony and was refusing a summons regarding his pledge of loyalty to King Louis. 

More than once, d’Artagnan had noticed the side-glances aimed towards him by his brothers-in-arms. It didn’t take much imagination to know what they were thinking, and he wondered how long before one of them protested his inclusion on the mission. 

Tréville dismissed them to prepare for their journey, and d’Artagnan quickly left so he would not hear one or more of the men he once thought of as brothers try to convince their captain that he was no longer fit to be assigned to them. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough because he heard Athos say his name as he walked out onto the balcony. Having expected this outcome for some time now, he knew it would hurt to have the three older Musketeers forsake him, but somehow having Athos be the one to speak up first hurt almost worse than having his father die in his arms. 

Until told otherwise, d’Artagnan decided he would still prepare for the mission ahead. His next payment to the Cardinal was due in two days, but he had neither the freedom nor the time to head to Richelieu’s office to make the payment early. This was not the first time he’d been late in making a payment due to a mission, but he would likely be gone a lot longer than the last time it happened. He had to trust Richelieu would continue to keep his word about being excused regarding late payments for being away due to the King’s business. 

He went straight to his barracks room to grab his blue Musketeer cloak and after carefully, almost reverently, folding it, he put it in his saddlebag. Normally, he would’ve packed an extra shirt, but he was currently wearing the only one he had left. Apparently, there were only so many times a shirt could be repaired before people began to notice its pitiful state and wondered why a new one hadn’t been purchased. D’Artagnan didn’t think he would need his cloak for this mission, but he knew his days as a Musketeer were so few now that keeping it close was a sort of twisted comfort because he would not have it for much longer. 

After stopping by the kitchen to ask Serge for provisions, the young Gascon headed towards the stable to saddle his horse. As he was tacking up his horse, d’Artagnan was once again confronted by how worn out some of the leather on his saddle and other gear was. He had been forced to maintain it as best he could on his own by resuming making all the repairs himself, but with some things the only appropriate action was to replace them. Due to his financial situation, that was simply not possible, and he lived in fear that some failure of his equipment would cost one of the other Musketeers their life. 

ooooooo 

Of course, with his current run of misfortune, something did go wrong during the mission. 

Everything was as good as it could be given the estrangement between him and his friends, the hours were full of awkward silences overall and pointed glances between the three older men. Before the four of them had arrived at the outskirts of Baron Grailly’s chateau, they were attacked from behind by men bearing the baron’s colors. It seemed likely Grailly had no intention whatsoever of pledging his loyalty to his King. 

Instinctively ducking with the first sound of gunfire, he reacted in the next moment by grabbing his pistol from its holster, even as he heard Athos begin to shout out orders. Continuing to ride at speed, he turns and shifts his weight to stand on one stirrup so he can fire his gun at their attackers. D’Artagnan is about to fire when the world suddenly drops out from under him. 

When he thinks back on this time, he can never really remember the fall itself, only a few disjointed images. After that it’s a brief sense of pain followed by the dark rushing towards him with wide-open arms and he willingly tumbles into their embrace. 

ooooooo 

D’Artagnan wasn’t sure when he became aware of the dark again, but he did so reluctantly several times. There were even times he was close enough to the surface of consciousness to feel excessive heat or to hear familiar voices. Often the voices were inquiring or demanding, and he had no idea if he had answered them, but most often they were soothing, which gave him some comfort. 

Mostly, he shied away from consciousness and chose to stay in the dark, vast nothingness where his problems could not reach him. He wanted to stay where his poverty and debt no longer existed. He wanted to stay where he was not ashamed, not ruining his friendships, and not about to lose his commission before being put in prison. 

But it was not meant to be. 

Eventually, the darkness receded, allowing more and more of the outside world to intrude upon the quiet refuge he’d escaped to within his mind. With an increasing awareness that a world beyond the darkness existed, pain started lighting up every nerve. He tried to go back to the darkness, but voices were insisting he stay with them. Demanding he wake up, speak to them, something. 

So he did, if only to make them be quiet. 

“Wha—?” d’Artagnan intelligently said before grimacing in pain and coughing. 

He heard a familiar huff of laughter. 

“Stay with us, d’Artagnan.” 

“Come on, now. Open your eyes.” 

The dark was there, tempting him back into its embrace, and though he wanted back to where his life was uncomplicated and relatively trouble-free, he obeyed. 

He opened his eyes, and then shut them again almost immediately. After the dark, the light made his head feel as if he’d had daggers driven through both of his eyes – and then his ears for good measure. Retreating back into the darkness seemed like a very good idea at the moment. 

“Hey… None of that. Stay with us,” a voice he finally recognized as belonging to Aramis said. 

“Porthos closed the curtains,” Athos said. “Try opening your eyes again.” 

This time, when he opened his eyes, what little light remained still stabbed into his brain, but it was tolerable in comparison to last time. 

“There you are,” Aramis said, sounding entirely too cheerful. His friend raised his head and helped him take a few sips of water. 

“Wha’ happen’d?” 

“Grailly’s men attacked us,” Porthos replied. “They’re now six feet under, regrettin’ that decision.” 

“Grailly?” 

“The Baron was vastly overconfident in his ability to defend his chateau, he joined the fight and—.” 

“Is most definitely regrettin’ his decisions,” Porthos said, cutting across what Athos had been about to say. 

He must’ve looked as confused as he was feeling, because Aramis said, “To sum up, Grailly is dead.” 

D’Artagnan motioned to the cup of water, and Aramis helped him with drinking more of it. 

“You alright?” he asked. 

“We’re unharmed, though we can’t say the same about you.” 

Porthos, Aramis, and Athos shared an odd look between them. 

“What do you remember?” Athos asked. 

D’Artagnan racked his brain. Only fleeting, confused images came to him. He tried to describe them. “Riding. A volley of gunfire. And then…then… Nothing.” 

His friends shared another cryptic look between them. 

“What’s wrong? Why—?” 

Porthos lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck before he said, “So you don’t remember anything between then and now?” 

“No,” he replied, feeling as though he had forgotten something very important about that lost time. 

Aramis put a hand on his forearm. “And that’s fine. It can happen when you get a concussion, plus your fever has barely broken. You might remember more with time.” 

Fever? 

Before he could ask, Athos said, “You took a bad fall when your stirrup broke, and…” 

D’Artagnan barely heard anything Athos or the others said after finding out his stirrup broke. Something about a miracle, how falling saved him from being shot in the chest, and that he was relatively uninjured after falling. 

He desperately tried not to show it outwardly, but inwardly he was panicking, wishing he’d never left the darkness of unconsciousness. They had to know; they had to have seen just how worn and bad off all of his equipment was. Surely they suspected something; he had always been so meticulous with his gear and weapons. For him to have not already replaced equipment that was worn to the point it could fail – _did_ fail – at any moment was a definite sign something was going on. How was he going to afford fixing—? 

“—D’Artagnan?” 

“What?” he replied, realizing they had been trying to get his attention for some time. 

“Are you alright?” 

He was most certainly not alright, but he refused to admit it, and voiced a different truth instead. “Tired. My head and arm ache.” 

“To be expected after the time you’ve had the past couple of days.” Aramis smiled before moving towards the other side of the room. 

“How long…?” 

“Since you were hurt?” Porthos asked. 

D’Artagnan nodded. 

“About two days,” Athos replied. 

Panic wells up within him once again, and this time he doesn’t think he’ll be able to hide it. He already owes one payment to the Cardinal. By the time they return to Paris, he’ll owe a second. So fogged by exhaustion and increasing pain from his injuries, d’Artagnan can’t recall if he has enough money to pay money to pay for two weeks, which only increases his panic and discomfort. 

When his friends notice his deterioration, he sticks to the partial truth and admits to pain, causing Aramis to hurry over with a pain draught. 

He willingly drinks the concoction without complaint, causing Aramis, Porthos, and Athos to share yet another look. If he wasn’t so focused on his own despair and pain, d’Artagnan might have thought more about the fact that it wasn’t only worry on their faces. 

Closing his eyes, and willing the pain draught to work faster in making him fall asleep, he realizes how tired he really is. Not just tired in body, but tired in mind and spirit. He’s tired of the lies, of the weight of his debt upon his shoulders, and of the constant worry and stress. 

As he’s pulled down into a different kind of darkness, he decides he wants all of it to be over. 

He’s decided to give in and let the inevitable happen instead of selling all he owns so he can continue fighting to the last. The Cardinal had won, and would fully get his revenge. All d’Artagnan could do now was learn to accept his upcoming fate, because it was time to surrender to it. 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Seven: The Last Time_

**ooooooo**


	7. The Last Time

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Seven: The Last Time**

About the only good thing to come out of the rest of their mission had been the fact that d’Artagnan didn’t have to pay to get his stirrup repaired. At first, he thought his fellow Musketeers had taken pity on him and had paid for the repair, but as they left, some townsfolk thanked him and the others for their help in getting rid of Grailly, who had been terrorizing his own people. They’d inquired what else they could do to repay them aside from the repairs they’d done along with the provisions given for the return journey to Paris. Knowing the repairs had been done out of gratitude had helped, but d’Artagnan still felt he didn’t deserve the townsfolk’s kindness for what amounted to him falling to the enemy in the first thirty seconds. 

As they journeyed home, he knew his unusual mood worried the others, but he hoped they attributed it to his recovery instead of having surrendered to his fate. Having made the decision to give in and let the Cardinal win, d’Artagnan was left feeling an odd sort of relief. Relieved that this part of his ordeal was almost over and that he would soon be just another lost soul in the deepest, darkest depths of whatever prison Richelieu decides to imprison him. Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise him if he was put into an oubliette* and left to rot, kept barely alive until he was truly forgotten and Death finally came for him. D’Artagnan tried not to think about what was coming, and instead focused on his last days as a free man. 

With the forced recovery time, plus the time it took to travel, d’Artagnan and the others didn’t return to Paris for another four days. The four days meant he returned one day _after_ he needed to pay an additional weekly installment to the one he’d owed just after he’d left the city. He now owed two installments to Cardinal Richelieu. Previously, if he’d been away on the King’s business, he had been allowed to pay the day after he came back, so he had no fear of reprisal on that score. Reprisal would instead come when he presented his payment to Richelieu, because he was certain he did not have enough money to pay for two installments at the same time, having not yet received his monthly income from the King. 

When they return to the garrison, and after they give their report to Captain Tréville, Porthos suggests they go out to a tavern to celebrate the end of a successful mission and d’Artagnan’s recovery. Aramis and Athos readily agree, but d’Artagnan has no choice but to decline, citing being tired from the journey back to Paris. They try to get him to change his mind, to have him come and keep them company for a little while, but he can’t bring himself to agree even if it might be his last night with his friends. He has too much to do. 

Arriving at his barracks, d’Artagnan checks to see if there are any of his fellow Musketeers still in the room, and he lucks out. Only Lemoine is there, and he is asleep, likely getting some rest before going on guard duty later that night. As long as he is quiet, d’Artagnan will be able to follow through with his plans. 

After retrieving the money he owes the Cardinal from his old flask, d’Artagnan counts it to confirm what he’d previously suspected. He’d already long accepted his downfall, but to find out just how close he’d come to making the two full payments made him despair all the more. It figured that, in a year full of misfortunes, yet another one would befall him. When the Cardinal realized he would not be able to pay, Richelieu would be beyond smug and more than happy to send him straight to prison. 

His heart receives a jolt when another of the Musketeers assigned to the barracks enters. In the off chance Rigaud runs into his friends, d’Artagnan begins to undress, as if he were getting ready for sleep, so the other man doesn’t accidentally contradict any lies he’s told. Rigaud seems to barely notice there are others in the room, and is gone before more than a few minutes pass. When the older man leaves, d’Artagnan breathes a sigh of relief. 

Quickly, before anyone else walks in, d’Artagnan opens his trunk and packs up its meagre contents into his satchel so no one has to spend too much time making his spot ready for the next Musketeer assigned to it once he’s gone. He hadn’t bothered to unpack his saddlebags except his Musketeer cloak, which he returned to its place hanging up by the door, believing he no longer had a right to it. Sighing, he goes to the small writing desk in the room, and sits down to write a letter to his three friends.

 

_Athos, Aramis, and Porthos –  
_

_If you still care enough to go looking for me and have found this letter, then I feel I must explain why I am gone – and will not be coming back.  
_

_The individual who holds the papers regarding a debt my father incurred while he was still alive has come to me seeking repayment. From the very beginning, I knew I would never be able to repay the full amount of the debt, but felt it was a matter of honor for my family name to try. I was given the chance to repay the money in installments after an initial down payment of half the total amount due at the time. At first, I thought I would immediately encounter the consequences of not being able to collect such a large amount, but remembered a family heirloom I could sell to get the money. For the next weeks, I scrimped and saved, and did everything I could to keep up with the repayment installments, knowing it was only a matter of time before I defaulted. That time has come, and I must reap the consequences.  
_

_I wish to apologize to you, my friends, for not confiding in you about my troubles. Honor and shame kept me from doing so, but I beg you for one last favor. Do not go looking for me. I have accepted my fate, and only pray you can someday forgive my actions over these past months.  
_

_As for my remaining possessions… I do not have much, but I wish to leave the three of you what little I have left in the world to distribute amongst you as you see fit, including my horse and a box of trinkets that Captain Tréville has been keeping safe for me.  
_

_Thank you for everything. I will never forget you, and hope that you might one day think kindly of me again.  
_

_My deepest apologies to all three of you.  
_

_All for one, and one for all._

 

By the end of the letter d’Artagnan’s breathing is shaky, his heart is hammering in his chest, and tears are forming at the edges of his eyes. Fleetingly, he wonders if his friends will be able to read the increasingly poor penmanship. He allows himself a few moments to calm, to breathe slowly in an out, before signing his name. 

D’Artagnan pauses long enough for a drop of ink to splash onto the edge of the page, making him think for a moment that the tears he’s been holding back had finally fallen. He starts to set the pen down before halting the action and adding a short post script. There was one more thing he had to do before he leaves the Musketeer garrison for the last time.

 

_Enclosed is a letter of resignation from the Musketeers for the Captain, with permission to give you my box of trinkets. I would take it as a kindness if you could deliver it to him for me. – d’A_

 

As he reads back over the entire letter, he wonders if he should have said more to explain, or to apologize, or to tell Athos, Porthos, and Aramis how much they mean to him, but in the end, he decides to leave things as is. As last words go, they are adequate enough. 

He then writes a brief letter of resignation from the Musketeers to Tréville, citing familial obligations as his reason for quitting, which is true after a fashion. The inclusion of permission to give his box of trinkets to Aramis, Porthos, and Athos will instantly shatter that partial truth, but it will be far too late for anything to be done about it by then. 

After carefully folding and sealing with wax the missive for the Captain, he does the same with the letter to his friends being sure to seal the one letter within the other. Once finished, he sets it on top of his satchel and shuts his trunk one last time. 

When that’s done, he finishes undressing and lays in bed, feigning sleep until the rest of his barracks-mates return for the night, and Lemoine wakes and leaves for guard duty. He waits until he’s certain the other men in the room are asleep before getting dressed as quietly as possible, grabbing his boots and weapons to deal with once he’s outside. 

At the gate, he tells Lemoine he has an appointment in such a way as to suggest to the other man that he was on his way to a liaison with a woman. Lemoine smiles and claps him on the shoulder as he steps through the gate. 

Before first light, he has left the garrison on foot for the last time and heads in the opposite direction of where he will eventually end up in hopes of making tracking him impossible should his friends choose to go against his wishes and try to look for him.    

Eventually, d’Artagnan takes shelter close to the palace, and waits for the sun to come up on his last morning as a free man. 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Eight: The Shortfall_

ooooooo 

**Story Note** **:** _Oubliette_ – The word is derived from the French, _oublier_ , which means “to forget.” It was a “forgotten room,” a type of dungeon where the victim was lowered through a tiny shaft into a small, narrow room, sometimes only big enough for the person to stand. The main purpose of an oubliette was to confine prisoners in a dark, narrow space and leave them in their solitude for psychological torture. 

**ooooooo**


	8. The Shortfall

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Eight: The Shortfall**

Walking through the corridors towards Cardinal Richelieu’s office, d’Artagnan felt the weight of what was about to happen to him increase with his every step. The closer he got to Richelieu, the closer he was to prison, and the farther away he was from his friends and his life as a Musketeer. The weight was crushing, yet somehow he kept on walking as if it was just another day, keeping his inner turmoil to himself – at least he hoped it wasn’t visible to others. 

D’Artagnan arrived at the Cardinal’s office about the same time he did whenever he made a payment to reduce his debt, and soon he was standing in front of Richelieu. 

As had become a sort of ritual, d’Artagnan says nothing when he hands the coins to the Red Guard on duty that morning. The Red Guard hands the coins to the Cardinal, who begins to carefully count them, while d’Artagnan is made to stand in place and wait until it had been completed. 

If this had been just like every other time he’d paid another installment to reduce his debt, then d’Artagnan, once the count was finished, would have been allowed to leave with hardly a word uttered by the older man. In fact, after the first two payments, the Cardinal hardly ever bothered to say anything at all to him. 

But this was _not_ like every other time he’d paid another installment. This time he did not have the full amount that was due. This time the meeting would end very differently than what had become the norm. 

He watches as Richelieu shifts the coins to one hand before starting to carefully count them. With only a few coins left, the Cardinal stops counting, glances up at him, and then does a recount. D’Artagnan sees the exact moment when Cardinal Richelieu has confirmed what the Musketeer has already known for days – he doesn’t have the full amount required for two weeks of installments. 

Richelieu hardly puts any effort into controlling his glee at finding out he has won, while the opposite was true for him. He has to give everything he has to keep from allowing his defeat to show upon his face. 

The Cardinal takes every opportunity to drag the moment out as long as he can. It’s cruel, but not unexpected, and d’Artagnan uses his Gascon stubbornness to help him to get through it. 

One at a time, coin by coin, the older man sets the money on the desk, making stacks organized according to denomination. D’Artagnan knows the Cardinal is trying to provoke some sort of reaction from him, but he refuses to give in, which makes him a hypocrite. He’d already given in, given up on so much. 

Finally, Richelieu places the last coin down on one of the stacks and looks up at him. The man’s eyes are bright with triumph, and his smile was just as smug as d’Artagnan had imagined it. He hooks his thumbs on his weapons belt and waits, trying to keep his expression as impassive as possible. At any moment, he expects the Cardinal to call for the Red Guards to come and take him away to one of the prisons. 

Instead, Cardinal Richelieu leans forward and places his elbows on the desk, clasping his hands together and his index fingers extending to come to a rest just below his lips. The look of triumph was still there, yet now there was an undercurrent of cunning within the man’s gaze. 

After several long moments, Richelieu smiles. It’s predatory and makes d’Artagnan’s stomach drop. Perhaps his half-joking, pessimistic prediction of being left in an oubliette hadn’t been too far off after all. 

“D’Artagnan, it seems you were unable to come up with the full amount required for the two payments due upon your return to Paris.” 

“As you see,” d’Artagnan says. 

“You are fully cognizant of what this means, do you not?” 

“Yes, Cardinal Richelieu, I do.” 

He understands he never had a chance in being able to fully repay his family’s debt to the crown. He understands being a Musketeer has been his very great honor, and that he will greatly miss his brothers. He is “fully cognizant” of the fact that his life, such as it was, is over. 

“Well, now, let’s not be too hasty, d’Artagnan. You are only in arrears by one coin; it does not seem just to send you to prison for such a shortfall.” 

D’Artagnan can barely stand the way Richelieu is speaking. Smugness oozes out of every syllable, and he can sense the man is up to something he definitely won’t like. He wants to tell the man to get on with it, to just go ahead and seal his fate, but he chooses to hold his tongue instead. 

“I could send you to straight to prison, or…”—Richelieu lowers his hands—“It seems to me that, in return for forgiving the amount of the shortfall, you could do me a favor.” 

“I will not kill anyone in cold blood, Cardinal.” 

Richelieu chuckles as he stands and points a finger at him. “I find it very interesting that you would immediately assume I would want you to assassinate someone. It says a lot about your character, I think.” 

_Or it says a lot about yours, that assassination is what first comes to my mind when you ask for a favor_ , d’Artagnan thinks, but wisely chooses not say. 

The Cardinal moves to the front of his desk and leans against it. “My Red Guards are in need of…training. I propose you help them with that today. If you do, then I will forget the fact that you were one coin short. Does that sound agreeable to you?” 

D’Artagnan hadn’t been expecting such an offer, an offer that is tantamount to a stay of execution. He has the feeling Cardinal Richelieu is up to something, that the man has an ulterior motive for the offer, but he cannot discern what it could be at the moment. From the tone of the man’s voice, it is quite clear he has no other choice if he wants to stay out of prison and not lose his commission. 

His thoughts slide briefly over to his still-healing wound. The stitches weren’t due to come out for another few days, but he thought his arm would be in good enough condition to help with training some Red Guards. He would just have to be careful, but not so careful he revealed he had a weakness. 

Still, he’s tempted to say no, but he knows he can’t. If he gives in, and does the Cardinal this one favor, he can remain free, remain a Musketeer for another week. 

“And if I do this favor?” 

“Then it will be as if you never defaulted on your loan.” Richelieu’s smile is an odd combination of creepy and arrogant. “Your next payment would be due as usual.” 

“Of course,” d’Artagnan says. It’s a small reprieve, and he’d likely be reliving a form this conversation the following week, but he can’t see another way around his predicament. “Then, I accept.” 

“Excellent.” Richelieu’s smile widens as he goes back around his desk, calling out for the door guards to retrieve someone as he sits. 

“Captain LaFosse,” the Cardinal says as an older man with a greying beard enters. “Young d’Artagnan has volunteered to take the place of Gaspard today. Would you please inform him of his duties for the day?” 

Once the captain agrees, Richelieu asks, “Shall I inform Captain Tréville?” 

“That is not necessary, Your Eminence. I am not on duty today.” 

“Very good. Please wait outside. I have some business with my captain before you both depart.” 

As d’Artagnan leaves the room, certainty grows within him that he has just made a deal with the Devil. He can’t help but see the irony in the fact that the Devil on this occasion is supposed to be a man of God. 

 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Nine: The Aftermath_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to remind everyone that I update this story every two weeks. Thanks for your patience.


	9. The Aftermath

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Nine: The Aftermath**

Late that afternoon, as the sun starts to dip behind the skyline, d’Artagnan returns to the Garrison through the main gate. The guard on duty informs him that Porthos, Aramis, and Athos are looking for him, but he hardly hears the words and doesn’t bother to look for his friends. 

He’s so exhausted from his day of helping with “training” the Red Guards, and the lack of sleep from the night before, that he could barely think of anything else but his bed in the barracks. Actually, there is one other thing which occupies his thoughts – his wounded arm and how painful it was at the moment. 

Captain LaFosse of the Red Guards told him he would be helping to train the new recruits and novices, but what he actually ended up doing had no value towards improving the soldiers’ skills, and everything to do with making him as miserable as possible. He was treated with little decency, not given breaks to rest, and hardly even given the chance to use the latrine or get some water. They didn’t offer him any food either, though one Red Guard took pity on him and gave him a small piece of bread, and even then it was not enough sustenance since he’d not eaten for close to a day by that point.  

He’d surmised the Cardinal was up to something with his offer of trading “training” for forgiving the shortfall of a single coin, and he had been absolutely correct. He wasn’t so much helping to train the men as being used as training dummy, meant to constantly have to defend himself during hand-to-hand combat against what seemed to be every single Red Guard in Paris. Essentially, it had been an opportunity for the Cardinal to get some extra revenge upon him. 

About the only saving grace to the day was that he doesn’t think any of the men knew he was a Musketeer, having left his pauldron in his saddlebags before riding to the Red Guards’ garrison. LaFosse had explained to those participating that d’Artagnan had “volunteered” to help out for the day and no one had asked any questions. 

D’Artagnan had started out easily being able to defend himself, but an unlucky hit to his healing wound quickly changed things. Once his weakness was discovered, every opponent tried to press their advantage. It wasn’t long before, he’d torn some stitches and his arm had started to bleed sluggishly. By the end of the day, he could barely lift his arm, and his shirt – the only one he had left – was a mess of red down one side. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to hide the blood or the other bruises all over his body which were likely darkening with every passing moment. 

Distracted by making plans for seeing to his arm and cleaning his shirt, d’Artagnan doesn’t notice he has company until he stops dead at the sight of Athos sitting on his bed reading a book. 

“Athos?!” d’Artagnan says, practically dumbstruck at the sight of the older man. It’s only after Athos, who doesn’t take his eyes off him as he marks his place, shuts the book, and lays it down, that d’Artagnan manages to pull himself together enough to speak again. “Wha—What are you doing here?” 

Looking up at him, Athos’s left eyebrow rises, and the man’s expression is such that d’Artagnan feels stupid for asking such an obvious question, which has an equally obvious answer. 

“Lemoine said you left in the middle of the night, hinting that you were going to rendezvous with Rachelle. We became…concerned when you missed your meeting with Aramis.” 

Meeting with Aramis? 

His confusion must have clearly shown on his face, because Athos added, “So he could check on how your arm is healing.” Athos stood up, placing the bed in between them. “Porthos and Aramis are still out in the city trying to find you, but I grew tired of searching without so much as a clue as to where you could be. I reasoned you’d eventually have to return here sooner or later and decided to wait for you.”—Athos gestured vaguely to the room—“And…here you are.” 

“Here I am,” d’Artagnan dumbly repeated even as he started to panic over the possibility that Athos might have searched his trunk and discovered the letter he’d written. With difficulty, he forced himself to remain calm and to avoid glancing towards his trunk, but it was an uphill battle. He had the fleeting thought that, had things gone differently that morning, Athos might have been waiting for him for a _very_ long time. 

“I realize not being on duty today meant you were free to—” Athos’s expression changed to one of concern and he stepped around the bed to stand before him. “D’Artagnan, are you alright? You look pale, unwell.” 

As Athos lightly touched the elbow of his wounded arm and guided him to sit down on the bed, d’Artagnan realized the older man was correct – he wasn’t feeling very well. He also hadn’t bothered to answer his friend’s question or explain his forgetfulness regarding having his arm checked, knowing anything he did say would condemn him in one way or another. Only fleetingly does the solution to his problems – admitting to his friends his troubles with crushing debt and the Cardinal – come to mind before it’s swept away by other options. 

He could own up to reinjuring his arm, but he’d be risking his bruises being seen. How would he explain them, or the lack of bruising to his face? Or, he could admit to the partial truth of not sleeping or eating the whole of the past day or more? Could he get away with hiding his injury and asking to be let alone to sleep? 

His mind was so befuddled by exhaustion, lack of food, and his whirling thoughts, he wasn’t able to stop Athos from starting to remove his doublet before the man caught sight of his bloodied sleeve. 

“D’Artagnan! Your arm!” 

Athos’s exclamations managed to sharpen his thoughts enough that he began to resist the older man’s attempt to finish taking off his doublet. From what d’Artagnan could ascertain, Athos had not seen the full extent of the blood on his shirt. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“You and I have very different definitions of that word, and I suspect Aramis and Porthos would agree with me.” 

“That’s not my problem.” 

“ _Not my_ —.” Athos sighed; it sounded equally full of weariness and frustration. “D’Artagnan, you are my friend, my brother. Your problems _are_ my problems. Please, let me help you.” 

D’Artagnan pulled his doublet out of Athos’s hands and covered the blood back up. “It truly is nothing… An accident,” He paused and added a lie colored by truth. “The marketplace was crowded today. I…tripped over someone or…or something…and fell sideways into a wall. A couple of the stitches must have torn. I can take care of it myself.” 

Athos crouched down in front of him, one hand on the bed next to d’Artagnan’s knee to steady himself. “But you don’t have to take care of it yourself. If not me, then will you let Aramis see to it?” 

“It is not neces—” Voices outside of the room, ones he knows very well, interrupt what he was about to say. 

As Porthos and Aramis enter the room, Athos stands. “I’m sorry, but you no longer have a choice.” 

When the two men entered the room and laid eyes on them, their good-natured bickering instantly ceased. 

Aramis and Porthos spoke at the same time. 

“There you are!” 

“Where the hell have you been?” 

D’Artagnan thought pleading with Athos was worth a try, but the older man cut him off before he could utter more than his friend’s name. 

“D’Artagnan has reinjured his arm. Aramis, could you…?” 

“Of course,” the man said, sharing a concerned look with Athos as he moved around Porthos and headed towards him. 

D’Artagnan didn’t bother to argue with Aramis, knowing it was no use now that he was outnumbered three-to-one. Instead, he submitted himself to Aramis’s care and the questions that would soon follow, and wishing he could relive the morning and refuse the Cardinal’s offer. Going to prison would be a lot easier than trying to explain his injuries to his friends.

 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Ten: The Inconsistency_

**ooooooo**


	10. The Inconsistency

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Ten: The Inconsistency**

D’Artagnan couldn’t bear to look at the three older men as Aramis helped him to carefully take off his doublet. He heard an intake of breath when Aramis saw how much blood was on his shirt, and expected to be immediately questioned, but there was only silence. 

Wondering if the men were shocked by his appearance thus far or if they were only acting out of duty and weren’t going to bother finding out what happened to him, d’Artagnan glanced up in time to see what looked to be the end of one of the Inseparables’ famous silent conversations. Over the months he’d known Porthos, Aramis, and Athos, he learned a great deal of their silent language, but this time he wasn’t able to decipher much of what they’d been saying to each other. He mentally shrugged before returning his gaze to the quite interesting tear in his bed’s blanket; his best guess was that they were trying to decide who was going to do the questioning. 

Aramis was gentle, taking care with every movement in order to avoid hurting him. At the same time, d’Artagnan was forcing himself to remain unresisting and docile despite every instinct within him demanding he flee. To run away and avoid having to face the confrontation he knew was coming. Somehow, he managed to resist the temptation for flight, wondering if it was Aramis’s gentleness which was keeping him there or if it was just that he so was tired of pretending to be alright. 

When his shirt was fully revealed, Aramis made a comment about how it was a lost cause and should be discarded because the blood stain would never fully come out at this point. 

D’Artagnan panicked at the idea of losing his only shirt and blurted out something he’d meant to keep secret. “But this is my only shirt!” 

He cringed a little when he realized what he’d just said, and tried to cover up his mistake. “I—I mean… My only _clean_ shirt. The rest are being laundered, so I don’t have any other shirts right now.” 

Porthos’s expression turns thunderous, but at a gesture from Athos, it’s gone in the next moment. D’Artagnan has no time to wonder why Porthos had been so angry at his statement because Aramis offers to let him borrow an old shirt until he can get his laundry back. D’Artagnan knows he doesn’t really have a choice but to accept the offer and thanks the older man. He then resolves to attempt to clean the blood out of his shirt as soon as possible, so he doesn’t have to keep Aramis’s longer than is strictly necessary. 

Porthos mumbles something about going to get the shirt Aramis mentioned. The mumbling abruptly stops mid-sentence when his shirt is lifted high enough for the three men to see all the bruising on his torso. 

After a minute pause, Porthos exclaims, “What the hell happened to you!?” 

D’Artagnan winces again, but this time it’s due to how loudly Porthos had yelled. A couple of his roommates were entering the room just as Porthos was shouting;  d’Artagnan watches as they stop mid-stride before immediately backing out, giving him a sympathetic look as they leave. He sighs; now he is going to have even more questions to answer. 

Before he can reply, Athos lays a hand on Porthos’s forearm. With an enigmatic look on his friend’s face, Athos says, “The shirt.” 

Aramis helping him off with his own shirt blocks his vision for a moment, but he hears Porthos say, “Right,” and then several footsteps down the hall. Suddenly, they hear the larger man emit a frustrated sound followed by what he can only guess was a punch to the wall. 

He flinches at the sound and hopes his friend’s hand wasn’t injured, but oddly, Porthos’s action is semi-endearing. It, and the care he’s being shown since he first encountered Athos, have managed to rekindle a spark of hope within him. Hope that he hasn’t been completely forsaken. Not yet. 

The blood on his shirt has dried and is stuck to his bandaged wound, so Aramis asks Athos to get some water and rags to help loosen the material so it won’t tug on his skin, perhaps causing further damage. Once the shirt is separated from the bandage and slipped off his bloodied arm, d’Artagnan makes sure to take hold of it to prevent it from being taken from him. He hopes Athos and Aramis don’t think him trying to save his shirt is too abnormal, but from their expressions, d’Artagnan believes they at least have a negative opinion of the action. 

Except for the normal sounds of Aramis taking care of an injury, the three of them are mostly silent. Aramis asks him a couple of questions regarding how his injuries feel as they are treated, but otherwise remains largely concentrated on the task. Athos, on the other hand, leans against a nearby wall and watches Aramis treat him, scrutinizing the both of them with an inscrutable expression on his face. 

D’Artagnan attempts to ignore Athos, and focus on what Aramis is doing, but he can’t help sneaking a glance every so often, wondering exactly what the older man was thinking. He probably doesn’t want to know. All he does know is that his sense of dread for the upcoming conversation continues to increase. 

Porthos returns with the promised shirt just as Aramis is finishing bandaging his arm, and d’Artagnan realizes the larger man should’ve returned much more quickly. Did the older man report into the Captain? D’Artagnan chooses not to think what consequences he might have to face as a result. Then again, those consequences might not matter in another week or two.   

“There you are. Better?” Aramis smiles at him and stretches a hand out to Porthos for the shirt only to have it pelt him in the face. Aramis flails a bit in getting the shirt off his face, which d’Artagnan plucks out of his hands, as Porthos laughs heartily. 

Aramis glares at Porthos. “You’ll be sorry.” 

“Promises. Promises,” Porthos replies with a gleam in his eye. 

D’Artagnan starts to put the shirt on, not wanting to be naked in front of the others and expecting the interrogation to start now that Porthos has returned. Normally, d’Artagnan would have laughed at Porthos and Aramis’s antics, but he was unable to while being so worried about the upcoming conversation. Though, seeing Athos roll his eyes at their friends’ antics was enough to garner a slight grin from him. 

Once he finishes putting on the shirt, Aramis having helped him with the sleeve of his bad arm, d’Artagnan briefly considers trying to escape, but knows he has zero chance of getting past the older men. Instead he sighs and stands, grabbing his doublet off the bed intent on putting it back on. Aramis also stands and helps him put it on, his injured arm twinging at some of the movements, but feeling better overall for having been treated.  

“D’Artagnan, will you tell us what happened to you?” 

He wasn’t at all surprised Athos is the one to start the interrogation, but he is surprised by his reaction to the question. Before, he had been exhausted and was considering letting the older men in on his troubles, but once the question of what happened was asked, his heart begins to race, and along with it, his mind. Indecision warred within him once more – truth or more lies? He hadn’t counted on stubborn pride commencing a sneak attack against the truth and winning the day. 

Before he knows it, he’s saying, “I was coming back from Rachelle’s place and I was…” 

D’Artagnan knows his story doesn’t quite hold water, but it’s too late to spin another tale. He hadn’t meant to lie, but the falsehoods had slipped out with ease, being far more used to not telling his friends the truth at this point. He’s had his chance to get help and has now blown it. He’ll have to continue as he has been this whole time – alone. 

When he’s finished telling Porthos, Aramis, and Athos his story, silence reigns for several long moments. Porthos looks as if he wants to kill someone, probably him for lying. Aramis has taken hold of the golden crucifix he wears and seems to be praying, likely disappointed in him for damning his soul with more lies. And Athos… Athos is staring at him with an undefinable expression on his face. If he absolutely had to guess, d’Artagnan would say him and his story are being judged – and deemed unworthy. And it’s not like he disagrees – he _is_ unworthy. He is unworthy to be a Musketeer or to have the older men as friends after all of his lies, which he finally realizes are just as shameful as his debt. 

When Athos finally speaks, d’Artagnan can hardly believe his ears. 

“Do you know which Red Guards attacked you? Or their descriptions?” 

Dumbstruck by the fact his flimsy story was accepted, it takes d’Artagnan several moments to reply. 

“It…it happened so fast. It’s all a blur of red and black.” He knows that isn’t enough given the lack of damage to his head. “Uh…height? The only thing I can really remember is height as they walked away. One was a head shorter than the rest.” 

More and more lies. Why can’t he just tell the truth?! He has only one answer, though his conscience is in turmoil for lying. Protecting his friends is more important to him than anything else. 

“That’s it? One was shorter? There is nothing else you can recall?” 

At least that part had been the truth. One of his opponents had been a head shorter or more than the rest of the Red Guards. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies and looks away from the older men. 

“It’s strange…” Aramis says after a moment. 

D’Artagnan’s head snaps up at those words. 

“What is?” Porthos asks. 

Aramis gestures towards d’Artagnan’s face. “They refrained from hitting above the shoulders?” 

Of course Aramis realizes the glaring inconsistency of his story. D’Artagnan shrugs. “I guess they didn’t want to do any obvious damage, hoping embarrassment would keep me quiet.” 

He hears grumbling from Porthos’s direction, which stops when Athos glares at the larger man. 

“It sounds like these men were after a little sport against a Musketeer,” Athos says. “D’Artagnan if this happens again, you will inform the Captain or one of us immediately. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, Athos.” 

“Good,” Athos says, dipping his chin slightly. “We will take our leave now. Let you rest.” 

D’Artagnan is not the only one surprised by the fact Athos is letting the matter drop so easily, because Aramis and Porthos speak up at the same time. 

“We will?” 

“But, Athos—” 

“Enough,” Athos says, with a hard edge to his tone of voice, and gestures for Porthos and Aramis to walk out ahead of him. His friend looks back and orders him to get some rest as he walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him. 

D’Artagnan nods, unsure how to feel about what had just transpired. Confused? Amazed his story was believed? He’s having difficulty believing his story was accepted so readily. Perhaps this was the proof he needed to confirm he shouldn’t confide his troubles to Aramis, Porthos, and Athos. 

It was only after his friends had left, and he’d been sitting on his bed for a couple of minutes that he remembered the letter he’d written to them. He jumps up, checks inside his trunk, and then blows out a sigh of relief when he sees his letter hasn’t been disturbed. His secrets remained undiscovered. 

For some reason, d’Artagnan is not quite as relieved as he thought he would be.

 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Eleven: The Quest_

**ooooooo**


	11. The Quest

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Eleven: The Quest**

He’s assigned light duties for the next several days due to his injuries. Often there is one of the three around keeping an eye on him, preventing him from taking part in any training or activities which might hinder his recovery. 

D’Artagnan has no idea what to think about the actions of the three men. He knows he is grateful they still care and is still worthy enough of their continued regard when injured given how distant he’s had to be in recent weeks. Yet, he has no illusions how they would react to the same situation if they knew about his continuing deceit. 

Aramis had been correct in his assessment of the blood-stained shirt. D’Artagnan had tried more than once to get the shirt clean enough to wear while on duty, but no matter what he tried, the stain lingered even though it had much faded. However, it would never be adequate enough to wear on duty at the palace, but it would do as a shirt to wear while training. 

He would have to get a new shirt. Keeping Aramis’s any longer than absolutely necessary would make the others suspicious. D’Artagnan also worried it might lead to them to discover he had lied about his supposed other shirts being with the laundress. Unfortunately, the expense of a new shirt would make keeping to his meagre budget impossible. 

Lacking the reserve of money he once had from selling his family’s heirloom, his monthly stipend would not last very long due to the extra impending expenses. Buying a new shirt and paying to get the one he was borrowing from Aramis laundered to the man’s preferences would cost him more than he could really afford. He was pretty much back in the same boat as when he had been short the one coin the week before. 

With the unexpected, though suspicious, reprieve from the Cardinal, and the promise of his monthly stipend, d’Artagnan had just started to hope again. Based on that hope, he had thought he might be able to stay in the fight for a few more weeks and remain a Musketeer a little longer. But it was not meant to be, and despair and defeat came swiftly back again. Sooner rather than later he would once again be short in his payment to the Cardinal. 

The first time duty takes Porthos, Athos, and Aramis away from the Garrison for the day, d’Artagnan heads out on his quest to find a new shirt, hoping he’ll come across a reasonably priced one. He’s wearing his old, stained shirt, intending to take the borrowed one to be cleaned so he can finally return it to Aramis. 

Thankfully, he remembers where Aramis’s favorite laundress is located and heads there first. Back when he was a recruit, d’Artagnan had been tasked with running a wide variety of errands for the commissioned Musketeers. Taking items to and from the laundry was one of the easier errands he had been assigned to do despite some of the men having conspired on occasion to have him running back and forth more than a few times in the same hour. 

Aramis’s favorite laundress was an older woman from Spain named Sofia. Her accent made her difficult to understand at times, but that had never hindered their ability to communicate. Thanks to being around Aramis so much, d’Artagnan had learned how to say a few things in her language and he made sure to greet her using her native tongue every time. 

Sofia was always delighted by his efforts even as she teased him about his poor pronunciation. This time was no different, which brought a smile to his face; it felt like he hadn’t done that in far too long. She complained about having not seen him in quite a while, and he’d apologized. Sofia was kind enough to give him a very good deal for washing just one shirt as compared to the larger batches of clothing he had once brought. If only he could find as good a deal on a new shirt, then maybe it would take longer for him to fall short on his installments to the Cardinal. 

The first couple of merchants want to charge him even more than he could afford for goods that were shoddy at best and moth-eaten at worst. If he’s going to have to spend the funds, and be imprisoned due to another shortfall, then d’Artagnan wants a shirt that will last the rest of his life – however short it might be. It doesn’t have to be of the highest quality, but he would prefer it not fall apart after wearing it for a couple of days. 

D’Artagnan walks away from the marketplace, thinking if he comes back before it closes up for the day, he might be able to negotiate a better price for one of the shirts he’d seen. He wanders the city, warily keeping an eye out for trouble, while idly searching for other clothing merchants who might be willing to give him a fair price. Instead of a clothing merchant, he finds a woman selling some possessions just off one of the main streets. 

He stops and takes a brief look despite knowing he couldn’t afford to buy anything and that he also likely didn’t need any of the items being sold. The woman strikes up a conversation with him, and d’Artagnan quickly learns she is a widow. Her soldier husband had recently been killed, and she was selling off items she no longer needed in hopes of coming up with enough money to leave Paris and return home to her family in the south. 

Among the various household items for sale, d’Artagnan is surprised to see several articles of clothing, including a shirt that must have once belonged to her husband. It’s readily apparent the shirt is of better quality than the ones he’d encountered at the marketplace, so he asks the widow how much she wants for it despite anticipating the asking price being too high for him to afford. 

The woman’s eyes briefly shift towards his pauldron before she quotes him an amount much lower than he’d expected to hear, possibly because he’s a soldier. Given his situation, it’s an amount which he honestly still can’t afford, but he needs a shirt and the widow can use the money. He starts to object anyway, feeling like he’s cheating her despite her generosity, but with a look, the woman silences him. He hands over the money and, with a deep bow and smile, thanks her for the shirt and wishes her luck in selling the rest of her wares. 

As he walks back towards the laundress to pick up Aramis’s shirt, he mentally calculates how long it will be before he will have another shortfall when paying his installments to the Cardinal. With strict economy, and after the current week’s installment, he will fall short again after another two weeks. 

The threat of prison has been looming for so long, he almost feels numb to the idea. At least when he gets there, he will have the memory of spending money on a worthwhile cause along with the look of gratitude on the widow’s face to help keep him company.

 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Twelve: The Offer_

**ooooooo**


	12. The Offer

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Twelve: The Offer**

Two days later, when d’Artagnan gives Cardinal Richelieu that weeks’ installment, the older man seems disappointed to have been given the full payment. As Richelieu counts the coins, d’Artagnan can see the man is squinting and, if he’s not mistaken, in pain. A lifetime of experience has him recognizing the symptoms of a migraine. Regardless of how d’Artagnan feels about the Cardinal, he could never wish that kind of pain on anyone and takes care to be quiet in his movements as he leaves the man’s office. 

The next time he saw Richelieu, d’Artagnan noted the man looked a little pale and briefly wondered if another migraine might be coming on. Soon, any thought of the older man’s health flew out of his mind as he watched the Cardinal counting the installment that had just been handed over. He was fully aware this would be the last time he was going to be able to make a full payment, that he would be short by more than one coin all too soon. Without any more money reserves, and his next monthly stipend not due for another couple of weeks, d’Artagnan knew his situation was hopeless. 

Last time he’d had a shortfall, the Cardinal had chosen to give him a reprieve that he suspected was just another form of revenge against him. He has no idea what form of revenge the older man might come up with the following week, or if the man will simply have him taken straight to prison. 

Seven days. Once before d’Artagnan had faced the notion that he was going to prison, and in seven days, he would be facing it again. In seven days, he would once again be saying goodbye to the life he had built for himself in Paris. In one week, Cardinal Richelieu will likely cement his victory. 

As his remaining time as a free man counts down once more, d’Artagnan can’t help but want to store up good memories he can replay in his mind as he rots in prison. Tréville as the captain surveys his men, looking proud as they train in the various skills of a soldier.  Porthos’s boisterous laugh when he defeats his opponent in hand-to-hand fighting. Aramis’s grin as the man hits yet another bullseye during target practice. Athos’s slight smile of approval when d’Artagnan flawlessly executes a move his friend had taught him during sword play.  

A memory he hadn’t expected to add to his collection came to him when he was on his way back from running an errand for the Captain. He had just entered the marketplace, having decided to take a short cut through it, when he saw her. Or rather, he caught sight of her auburn hair first. When she moved to a stall displaying some fresh bread, he saw her face and made sure to duck into an alcove where she wouldn’t be able to see him. She looked…happy, and though still hurt by her rejection of him, d’Artagnan was glad. He watched her for another moment, then turned and went back the way he came. He could return to the Garrison another way. 

As a matter of practicality, d’Artagnan had long ago unpacked his things from his satchel, placing them neatly back in his trunk for day-to-day use. The letters he’d written to the captain and his friends were hidden under a sort-of false bottom to the satchel. The false bottom wouldn’t have held up to scrutiny for any length of time but it had served its purpose regardless. More than once he had toyed with destroying the letters, turning them to ash, but upon careful reconsideration, d’Artagnan had kept them. He recognized he would eventually need such a missive again, and didn’t think he’d have the heart to write another such as the one he’d written to Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. 

In a repeat of last time, d’Artagnan spent his last night away from his friends, retiring early as had become habit, packing up his belongings, and placing the letter he’d written weeks ago on top of the pile. As he leaves the garrison, Courtois, who is on guard duty at the main gate, is left with the impression he was on his way to a meet with a woman. He spends his final hours waiting to for the sun to come up, and then enjoys how its light paints the rooftops of the buildings as he makes his way to the Cardinal’s office. 

ooooooo 

As with the majority of their previous meetings, they don’t interact with each other. D’Artagnan gives the Red Guard who had accompanied him into the office his payment, and it is promptly turned over to Cardinal Richelieu. All too soon Richelieu will be very interested in interacting with him, and his life is going to change one way or another when they next speak. 

The Cardinal pours the money into his right hand, and immediately transfers the coins to his left hand, setting the pouch down on the desk. As the older man begins counting the coins, d’Artagnan can’t help but count along with the older man. He also can’t help but get ahead to the point at which Richelieu will discover what d’Artagnan has known for more than a week – he’s short by two coins. 

He had tired… Tried so hard to pay back his debt, but he had failed. D’Artagnan had known he would from the beginning, but after the reprieve he’d received from the Cardinal last time, he’d thought there might be a small chance he would be able to pay off his debt and retain his family’s honor. Apparently, it was not meant to be. 

D’Artagnan noticed the second Richelieu realized the payment amount was short. The expression on the man’s face was nearly identical to the last time – gleeful and smug – and like last time, the Cardinal did a recount. 

He attempted to remain impassive – at least outwardly – and thought he was succeeding. Inwardly the attempt was a complete failure. On the inside, he was anxious and wondered if these were his last moments as a free man. Or, would Cardinal Richelieu use this opportunity to offer him another reprieve, which he considered to be another form of revenge against him. 

Another reprieve would do him no good, because he had no more money left from that month’s stipend. Even if he sold his mother’s ring or his horse, he would not have enough for more than one or two installments. He absolutely refused to sell his sword, not wanting what used to belong to his father to go to a stranger just so he could have enough to make it until his next monthly stipend. After wising up to the idea that his sword might be confiscated when he was sent to prison, d’Artagnan had left his in the garrison’s armory, trading it for one of the spares kept on hand. He’d rather the Musketeers keep his father’s sword, than it ending up in the hands of a Red Guard. He’d left his horse behind for the same reasons. 

At this point, it didn’t matter how many of his belongings he sold; it would never be enough. He would end up with another shortfall ere long, and was reminded there was no hope of paying off his family’s debt. 

“It seems, d’Artagnan,” the Cardinal says as he’s putting the coins into stacks, “that you have failed to bring me the full amount due this week. You are short by…” The clink of the final coins being stacked seems to echo throughout the large room. “Two coins.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“You do recall the—” 

“Yes, Your Eminence, I do.”  

Mentally, d’Artagnan winces at having interrupted Richelieu. His rudeness will likely cost him. 

“Quite,” Richelieu says, looking annoyed with him. 

The Cardinal uses a handkerchief to wipe his brow. As he finishes, a smile erupts on the older man’s face. It’s just as predatory as he remembers from the last time he had a shortfall. 

“You are in arrears by such a small sum even if it is double the amount of last time. Perhaps you would consider doing me another favor to cover the amount? Like last time, it would be as if you never defaulted.” 

D’Artagnan almost declines the offer outright before he’s even heard any of the details. Whatever the favor was, it was not going to change his overall circumstances. He was still broke, and he was still going to lose everything that mattered to him. Did it really matter if it happened this week versus the next? 

However, curiosity keeps him from immediately declining the offer. Instead, he says, “And what would this favor entail?” 

Richelieu smiles. It’s cold and calculating, and makes him wonder if the older man might not want him to assassinate someone after all. 

“I would like you to obtain some information for me. It’s something you should have no difficulties in doing.” 

“Why is that? Where would I be getting this information?” 

“From Captain Tréville’s office.”

 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Thirteen: The Choice_

**ooooooo**


	13. The Choice

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Thirteen: The Choice**

_“From Captain Tréville’s office.”_

D’Artagnan’s mind froze upon hearing Cardinal Richelieu’s words. He didn’t think he’d misheard, but thought he should double check. 

“You want me to break into my Captain’s office and steal information from him?” 

“In essence.” 

His first instinct is to say no and let the Cardinal throw him into prison. Even if he got away with it, he would be breaking the trust of someone to whom he owed a debt. Without Tréville taking him on as a recruit, he never would’ve found his true calling in life. 

Then, he remembers what Athos has been drilling into his head for months: _head over heart_. D’Artagnan forces himself to resist acting rashly, and instead decides to try and determine exactly what Richelieu might be up to. 

He begins making a hopefully-convincing show of agonizing over the decision, forcing himself to look troubled and indecisive, which honestly wasn’t all that difficult. 

“And I—I’ll no longer be in default if…if I do this for you?” 

“You have my word,” Richelieu replied. 

“And if I’m caught?” 

“I will deny everything, and then make your experience in whatever prison you get thrown into singularly unpleasant.” The smile which accompanied the Cardinal’s words was particularly malicious. 

“And if I’m not caught, you won’t reveal where you got the information from – to anyone?” 

“That would be rather counterproductive, don’t you think?” 

D’Artagnan would think that, but with the Cardinal one never knew. That’s when a corner of his mind interjects: _Trick or trap_? The man had quite the silver tongue and plans within plans. Richelieu might be able to frame things in such a way that d’Artagnan would be the only one to take a fall regardless of the outcome. 

He runs his hands through his hair as he turns away from the Cardinal’s piercing gaze, and walks several steps towards the other end of the room before stopping, pretending to consider the offer. In actuality, he’s swiftly considering his options. 

He’s been trying to redeem his family honor by paying off the debt, fully knowing it would likely never happen given his situation. It was one thing to work off his debt or make up for shortfalls with “training” Red Guards, but quite another to steal from his Captain and the Musketeers. It would only add to the shame he already felt in regards to the family debt existing in the first place. 

If he says no, then he goes to prison after having his commission stripped away. If he says yes, then in just one week he will be in the same position he is in now – broke and ripe for further manipulation and degradation. Over time, he believes he would be trapped into doing the Cardinal’s bidding through blackmail and the threat of prison or death – and not just his own death. He doesn’t want to become an agent of Richelieu’s, doesn’t want to be anything like Milady, but the situation is fast spinning out of his control; more so than it had been before. 

Neither of them has ever discussed it, likely in order to avoid accusations of favoritism, but d’Artagnan vaguely remembers Captain Tréville from when he was a small child. He believes Tréville had been a friend of his father’s, but can only really remember a couple of visits. He can’t imagine ever betraying his Captain; it would be far too much like betraying his father. 

It is obvious Richelieu was up to something, but he has no idea what that something might be, other than continued revenge against him. At this point, he doesn’t know what kind of information the Cardinal wants him to steal. What if the man was trying to trick him into committing treason by stealing information that could harm the Crown in some way? If he was to get caught, his life would be over – literally, painfully, and violently. 

Another possibility was that the information could lead to something akin to another Savoy. To forward some scheme or another of the Cardinal’s, his fellow Musketeers might one day be headed towards an ambush that could kill them all. What if his three friends were killed in such an ambush? He didn’t think he could survive such a scenario, be a party to such collateral damage, with his mind intact. 

Above all else, he feels as if he would be dishonoring his family if he were to accept. He can almost see the look of disappointment on his father’s face as if the man were standing right in front of him. And that’s not even counting the damage to his soul such an action would cause. 

D’Artagnan runs his hands through his hair yet again, stopping when he hears the Cardinal shift in his chair when the wood creaks. He can tell the man is losing patience and wants an answer sooner than later. 

He may be pretending to consider the offer, but his indecision is real. His anxiety over making the right decision is very real if the too-fast beating of heart is any indication. His shoulders are too tight and his head is beginning to ache, especially behind his right eye, which is an early sign indicating a migraine is on its way. 

_Trick or Trap?_ His mind repeats the words several more times before he concludes: _Both_. It’s then he realizes he never really had any choice at all. He has to know the Cardinal’s endgame no matter the cost to himself. 

“I’ll do it.” 

ooooooo 

D’Artagnan leaves the palace in a daze. His mind aching and full, he’s hardly paying any attention to where he is walking. He thinks back on the details Cardinal Richelieu had given him about his “assignment.” That word alone had alerted him to the fact that the older man was setting him up for a fall greater than simply going to prison and losing his commission. It wouldn’t surprise him if he was being set up for a charge of treason. 

There had been times in the past – too many, now that he thought about it – where he had come ever so close to going to his friends and asking for help. Shame of his debt, and wanting to keep it secret, has led to lies and isolation, guilt and loneliness. For one reason or another he had stopped himself from admitting everything. This time, he would not allow his fears of condemnation and rejection prevent him from following through. The consequences no longer mattered to him. 

Minutes or hours later, d’Artagnan finds himself at the entrance of the stable. He can’t remember passing through the main gates of the Garrison or who he might have passed to get there. Briefly, he contemplates going back the way he came and find his friends; instead, his feet carry him farther into the building. Jacques turns, sees him, and goes towards a bench full of equipment used to take care of the horses. Without a word, the younger man hands him a body brush and d’Artagnan heads over to his horse. 

Brushing his horse has always calmed him and he definitely needs to calm the whirlwind of thoughts within his mind. He knows he needs to talk to his friends, and he will, but he feels it’s more important at the moment to get his head on straight first. With each stroke of the brush, he can feel thoughts begin to rearrange themselves back into their proper order and the ache in his head recede. Just a few more minutes and d’Artagnan believes he will be ready to deal with how his friends will react to the truths he’s been withholding from them all this time. 

He’s almost ready to confront his friends, when Athos moves into his line of sight. So focused on what he’d been doing, he startles and nearly drops the brush. 

“Athos? What are you doing here?” he asks as he forces himself to continue grooming his horse. 

When Athos does not immediately answer, he takes the hint and stops what he’s doing. After showing his horse some affection, d’Artagnan makes his way to the equipment bench. Athos follows him. He returns the brush to its proper place, takes a breath, and turns to face the man he still considers his best friend. 

When Athos hands him an apple, d’Artagnan doesn’t quite know what to think. Athos pointedly looks at the apple, which clues him into the obvious. Thinking back, d’Artagnan realizes he’s missed breakfast yet again. Grateful of Athos’s care of him, for however much longer it lasts, d’Artagnan takes a bite, chews, and waits for the older man to speak. 

“I saw your return. You seemed to be distracted and did not hear me calling your name.” 

“I apologize, Athos. I’ve had overmuch on my mind lately.” 

Athos tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I have noticed.” 

Those words cause his stomach to drop into his feet. Of course Athos has noticed his unusual behavior, and more than likely Porthos and Aramis have as well. He can’t help wondering what else Athos has noticed, but is afraid to ask. 

The words do more than make his insides want to be on the outside, they also provide a perfect segue way towards what he should have said too many weeks ago. D’Artagnan takes a quick look around to make sure they won’t be overheard before taking a steadying breath in an attempt to calm his galloping heart. 

Looking Athos in the eyes, d’Artagnan leans slightly forwards, and with a quiet, yet determined voice says, “I have a problem and need your help.”

 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Fourteen: The Note_

**ooooooo**


	14. The Note

  **ooooooo**

**Chapter Fourteen: The Note**

**.**

_“I have a problem and need your help.”_

Athos’s left eyebrow rises inquisitively at his declaration, but then must have registered the caution d’Artagnan had used to utter it. The older man briefly tugs on an ear lobe and then glances towards where Jacques is still cleaning out stalls before shifting to the entrance. If d’Artagnan has interpreted the silent communication correctly, then Athos has realized that a public conversation would not be the wisest. D’Artagnan dips his chin ever so slightly in confirmation. 

His friend for the moment mouths the words _trust me_ before saying aloud: 

“I don’t know why I bother.” 

Anyone eavesdropping would easily be able to hear the heavily implied _with you_ at the end of that declaration. 

He wishes he hadn’t had to hear it though. As Athos storms out of the stables, looking fed up and angry, d’Artagnan can’t help but feel rejected and guilty despite knowing it was all an act for anyone close enough to spy on them. He does trust Athos; trusts the older man will figure out a way for the four of them to talk in private. Whether or not he will ever be trusted again after his confession is something d’Artagnan dares not think about at the moment lest he fall into despair. 

The apple he’s just eaten turns sour in his stomach; he has to swallow thickly a few times in order to keep it from reappearing in a disgusting fashion. 

For so long now, he’s had to separate himself from his friends’ companionship, largely due to his own choices, and now it was almost time to reap the consequences. Will that separation be permanent if somehow a miracle occurs and he can avoid all the tricks and traps of Richelieu’s latest offer to help him cover a shortfall? 

At a loss with what to do with himself – training with his lack of focus seems like a bad idea – d’Artagnan decides to go back to grooming his horse. The animal must have sensed his turmoil, because he’d barely resumed brushing before it moved to hang its head over his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. His answering smile is genuine even if it feels a bit brittle, and he scratches a couple of his horse’s favorite spots in thanks. 

With each stroke of the brush, he can feel his thoughts calm though the underlying anxiety regarding the situation he finds himself in remains. What little calm he’s managed to achieve instantly vanishes when Rigaud enters the stables and orders Jacques to get a horse ready before relaying the news that Captain Tréville wants to see him. 

Feeling the dread grow within him, d’Artagnan quickly cleans up before heading towards the Captain’s office. As he makes his way up the stairs and comes to a stop outside the door, he imagines he’ll see Tréville and his three friends all waiting for him inside. He imagines telling them about his debt and the deep hole he finds himself in due to the Cardinal’s latest offer. He imagines they’ll all be disappointed, angry, and ready to wash their hands of him. He imagines all that and more as he knocks on the door and waits for the invitation to enter. 

When he steps inside though, d’Artagnan finds something he hadn’t imagined: none of his three friends were in the room. 

Confused, he glances around, but soon realizes it is only him and Tréville in the room. His Captain’s expression is giving absolutely nothing away; it’s more impenetrable than anything he’s seen on Athos’s face since their first meeting. 

“D’Artagnan, I need you to deliver this letter.” Tréville holds out two documents and waits for them to be taken before saying anything more. “Your instructions are outlined in the accompanying note. You will leave immediately, but be sure to take provisions enough to last a day.” 

After having expected something entirely different, he’s bewildered but still knows his duty. “Yes, Captain.” 

He waits a moment to see if the older man will elaborate or mention his friends; instead Tréville only says, “Dismissed.” 

It’s not until he’s in the stables and standing next to his saddle that d’Artagnan unfolds the note he’d been given with the letter. When he immediately recognizes the hand of the note’s author, he has to fight to remain composed. 

_Deliver the missive as addressed, and then make your way to your usual campsite. Look for us to be there by the time the moon is at its zenith._

The note is unsigned, but Athos’s handwriting is unmistakable and it provides hope for the time being. He looks down at the letter he’d been given to deliver. It’s for a baron southeast of Paris. Delivering it would not take more than a couple of hours, maybe three, one way. From there, making his way to his usual campsite… 

And that’s when d’Artagnan finally realizes something: _your usual campsite_. How could Athos know about that? And not just Athos, but more than likely also Aramis and Porthos. He could have sworn he’s never been followed on the nights when he was supposed to have been with “Rachelle.” What else did the older men know? 

It’s a near thing, but he manages to not throw up, faint, or have a breakdown at the realizations. Instead, he forces himself to take slow, deep breaths and tack up his horse. His duty now is to deliver the letter; realizations and their implications could wait until he was out on the road. 

ooooooo 

It’s not long after d’Artagnan rides out of the Garrison that he starts having a bad feeling in his gut that isn’t the apple he’d eaten. While he’s still within the city, it is difficult to determine what exactly his bad feeling was trying to tell him, but after the second time he thought he saw a flash of red, the answer seemed obvious. He was being followed by an unknown number of Red Guards. 

He probably should be surprised by this fact, but he finds that’s not the case. After d’Artagnan had fooled him the last time, it made sense for the Cardinal to send people to spy on him. It’s why he had been so careful in the stables when talking to Athos. He just wasn’t sure how he was going to evade them in order to meet his friends later that night. 

Eventually, he’s free of the city and starting to ride out on the open road. As he goes around a bend in the road, he looks behind him in time to see two Red Guards dismounting their horses and looking like they’re going to be settling in for a wait. He chuckles to himself at the thought that the two men are going to be waiting a very long time for him to return, especially if he doesn’t go back via the same road. It then occurs to him to wonder if Richelieu might not have some of his guards stationed at the other roads into and out of Paris to keep an eye on him. He tries and fails to squash the paranoia that is rising in him as he rides farther away from the city. Because he keeps looking behind him for anyone who might be following him, it ends up taking him much longer than it should to get to the baron’s home. 

On his return trip to Paris, d’Artagnan uses the road he traveled out on, but soon turns off onto a rough, rarely used path that runs between two other properties. When he sees that no one is following him, he sighs in relief. Up until that point, he’d not been entirely certain he wasn’t being followed. 

Not long after confirming he’s alone, he cuts across the countryside and soon reaches his campsite. He’d found it by accident one day when he’d been trying to find shelter from a raging rainstorm, and had used it ever since as his escape. His campsite is not as big as it may look from the outside, but it had suited his needs more than once. It consisted of an odd rock formation which jutted out of the ground almost totally surrounded by a bunch of wildly overgrown bushes of some unknown type. The space under the jutting rock was just big enough to provide shelter for one, maybe two, people. Aside from the shelter the place provided, there was an open area he believes should comfortably fit him and his friends. He’s only seen signs of previous occupancy just the one time, and has often wondered why that was the case, though it took him almost falling into the recess before he’d found it the first time so he knew it was well hidden. 

The sun had almost completely set by the time he finished settling his horse down for the night, using the bushes to help hide the animal’s presence. It was still some hours until the moon, now waning gibbous, would reach its zenith, and his friends could be there at any time. Even though he knew he hadn’t been followed, he was still feeling more than a modicum of paranoia. 

Strategically and tactically, it wasn’t the best place to set up camp. It wasn’t near a source of water, he did not have the advantage of high ground, and the thick tangle of bushes blocked most avenues of escape. The only redeeming quality of the area was the protection the jutting rock provided during bad weather. 

Yet, he had continued to return to the place time and again. He had felt it a good place for him to hide from the world when he needed to be alone or somewhere to think through things. And then he found a new use for the place. With each visit to await making his next payment to the Cardinal, his dark thoughts regarding his situation, including guilt and shame, seemed to permeate the place, and transform it from one of peacefulness to one of suffering. He no longer felt as comfortable in the pseudo-sanctuary as he once did. One way or another, after this night, unless it was an emergency, d’Artagnan doubted he would ever return to his usual campsite.

 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Fifteen: The Gathering_

**ooooooo**


	15. The Gathering

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Fifteen: The Gathering**

If it weren’t for the moon continuing to rise in the sky, d’Artagnan would almost believe that time wasn’t passing at all. The moon was still relatively low in the sky, so it would be several hours before it reached its zenith; the waiting was start to grate on his nerves. There was no telling when his friends would arrive – if they arrived at all. What if the Cardinal had been suspicious enough to have the Red Guards keep tabs on them? He had to have faith they would be able to overcome any obstacles to make it to him. 

Eventually, he considers getting something to eat, but just as he starts reaching into his saddlebags, his horse reacts to something only it can hear. He holds his breath and wishes his heart wasn’t beating so loudly so he could better listen for whatever had caught the animal’s attention.  

At first, he hears nothing, but only moments later, d’Artagnan hears hoof beats. He drew his pistol and, as quietly as possible, cocked the hammer. As the hoof beats draw nearer, he calms his breathing and prays whoever is coming is a friend and not a foe. 

The hoof beats stop, and d’Artagnan aims towards the shadows the moonlight has not been able to penetrate. A moment later, he hears a bird call not commonly heard at night, and blows out a relieved breath. It’s a friend, and if he’s not mistaken, it’s— 

The bird call sounds a second time, once more alerting him to the fact a friend is approaching. D’Artagnan lowers his pistol as Porthos steps out from the shadows with his hands slightly raised as if in surrender. 

“Porthos!” Seeing the older man releases his remaining tension he has, allowing him to smile. He returns his pistol to his belt. “Took you long enough. Where are Athos and Aramis?” 

“We had to split up.” 

D’Artagnan’s old friend Worry instantly returns. “Split up? But—” 

Porthos gestures back towards where he came from, and says, “Let me get my horse settled, and I’ll explain.” 

Reluctantly, he lets Porthos go without any comment, though he knew it would be another test of his patience to wait for the larger man to return. 

In no time at all, though it felt much longer, Porthos returns with his saddlebags. D’Artagnan immediately starts firing off questions, but the larger man refuses to answer them until they both sit and make themselves as comfortable as possible given their surroundings. 

D’Artagnan opens his mouth to ask another question, but Porthos holds a hand up. 

“Just let me explain. Be a lot easier that way, I think.” 

Worried about Athos and Aramis, his temper flares slightly, but d’Artagnan also realizes Porthos is right, so he nods his agreement. 

“We were sitting at our usual table, relaxing before we were due to leave for the Palace, when Athos walks past us – without you – and straight over to the training area. Athos looked perfectly calm, and like his usual self on the outside, but his eyes...” 

Porthos pretends to over-exaggerate a shiver, but d’Artagnan can imagine perfectly well what Athos’s eyes looked like; he’d seen a brief glimpse in the stables. 

Instead of continuing the story, the older man takes the time to retrieve a small flagon of wine out of his saddlebags. Uncapping it, the larger man takes a long drink before holding it out towards him. D’Artagnan looks at his friend; if his glare had the ability to incinerate Porthos on the spot, it would’ve in this case. The older man laughs, shoves the flagon into his chest, and lets go, which forces him to grab hold of it or let its contents spill out all over him. He would admit only to himself that he was tempted to dump the wine on the ground for not immediately continuing his story; instead, he takes a drink of it, which causes Porthos to chuckle. 

As he caps the flagon, Porthos finally continues his tale. “After one, brief match, which left poor Blancour regrettin’ agreeing to spar with him”—Porthos chuckles—“Athos heads directly upstairs to the Captain’s office, giving us a look which clearly meant we weren’t to follow. Next thing we know we’re leaving for the Palace with Vouet and Le Nain instead of you. On the way, we lagged behind a bit, and Athos quickly told us what you’d said and where and when we were meeting you. Of cour—” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” d’Artagnan said. “How did you even know about this place?” 

Porthos briefly looked away from him and scratched at his beard before replying, “I, uh… I think it’s best Athos tells you that part.” 

“What?! Why?” 

“Just… It’ll be better coming from him.” 

D’Artagnan flings the flagon of wine back towards Porthos not hard enough to cause pain, but to make known his displeasure regarding what he’s just been told. 

He emits a frustrated growl and runs his hands through his hair, ignoring Porthos’s glare. Did that detail matter at the moment compared to hearing how only Porthos had arrived thus far? 

After mumbling an apology for his behavior, d’Artagnan then gestures for Porthos to continue his tale. Porthos’s expression shifts to one of warning, which he understands as a sign to not interrupt the older man again. Porthos then smiles slightly and reaches out to gently squeeze his shoulder. D’Artagnan can’t help but remember how long it’s been since he’s been able to indulge in such brotherly interactions with his friends and isn’t surprised by the momentary sadness that overtakes him. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary happened while we guarded the Queen’s little garden party, but as we were tacking up our horses, Aramis noticed there were several Red Guards who seemed a little too interested in where we were going now that we were leaving the Palace.” Porthos stops to take a couple of swallows of wine. “Vouet and Le Nain were ordered to report in to the Captain before going off duty – rank has its privileges, I guess”—Porthos laughs—“The rest of us talked about our proposed plans for the evenin’. As we left, it became obvious we had—” 

A bird call sounds just as they hear the hoof beats of an approaching horse, startling them and causing them to draw their pistols in caution. The sound comes a second time and they relax slightly, hoping to see both Athos and Aramis, but they were soon to be disappointed. Aramis was alone as he approached the two of them. 

Though worried about Athos, he’s happy to see Aramis and stands back as the marksman fondly greets Porthos. The sadness returns once again at the show of brotherhood, but he forces it to the back of his mind as Aramis asks: 

“What lies did you tell d’Artagnan before I arrived?” 

Porthos looks annoyed for a moment before he grins evilly. “Well… I was about to tell him about that time in Crèvecoeur when you—” 

“You promised!” 

“Did I?” Porthos asked, trying and failing to look and sound innocent. He then fails completely by laughing outright. 

Aramis aims a mocking expression towards Porthos, and then says one word. “Cherbourg.” 

“Point taken,” a suddenly sober Porthos concedes with a dip of his head towards Aramis. 

D’Artagnan has no idea what that whole exchange was about, but if he somehow avoids dying or prison – or both – he resolves to one day try and find out.

Before the two older men can start bickering again, he catches Aramis’s eye and asks, “Athos?” 

“I’m sorry, my friend, but I do not know.”

Ignoring the undeserved-term “friend,” d’Artagnan nods. “Porthos was just about to explain why and how you three had to split up.” 

“Oh,” Aramis says as they make themselves as comfortable as possible. “My apologies, Porthos. Please continue.” 

“Unless you’d rather…” 

“I can wait my—” 

D’Artagnan usually doesn’t mind when Aramis and Porthos go back and forth like they’ve been doing, but not in this case. He’s worried about what might have happened to Athos and doesn’t have the patience for it at the moment. 

“Stop!” he says, interrupting the two men a little more loudly than he’d intended. At a more reasonable volume, he adds, “Please. Just… Can one of you please explain why you split up? I don’t care who.” 

“Sorry about that,” Porthos says after sharing a look with Aramis. “When we left the Palace, it didn’t take us long to notice some Red Guards were following us. It told us that something more was at play regarding what Athos told us earlier in the day. We realized we would have to do something about our new friends.” 

“And that’s when you split up?” d’Artagnan asked. 

“Just so,” Aramis said with a nod. “There were only three Red Guards; they had to split when we did, thus making it easier to get them off our backs. The only downside was that being on horseback reduced our options.” 

“I headed straight for the Court of Miracles. The Red Guard that followed me would’ve been suicidal to follow me in there. With my horse, it was a tight squeeze in a couple of places, but Flea helped me find an alternate way out. Made my way here after I thanked her.” 

Aramis snorted. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” 

“Funny,” Porthos said before sending a heated glare towards Aramis. 

Before things could devolve any more, d’Artagnan asked, “What about you, Aramis?” 

Aramis squirms, looking reluctant to answer. When it seems Aramis might not answer, d’Artagnan and Porthos speak up at the same time: 

“Aramis?”

“Which one?” 

Aramis looks over at Porthos, grimaces, and answers the man’s question. “You remember Madame Marchand *****?” 

“The one with the five small, irritating dogs?” 

“That’s the one,” Aramis says and then sighs. “Only now it’s four small, irritating dogs.” 

“You mean…?” 

“No. God, no.” Aramis replies, looking horrified. “Old age.” 

Porthos chuckles. 

“Why her?” d’Artagnan asked, hoping to keep the conversation on track. If it wasn’t already there, the moon was nearing its zenith and Athos had still not joined them. 

Aramis gestures to the wine flagon Porthos was holding. After taking a long drink, he replies, “Back when there was that competition between the Musketeers and the Red Guards, I needed a patroness for the entry fee. I, uh…”—Aramis flails a hand, looking like he’s searching for the right word—“I _presented_ my case to Madame Marchand. Afterwards, we started talking about the land the mansion was sitting on. There is more than one secret passage off the grounds. Remembering that, I went to her and asked for a favor.” 

“And what price did you have to pay for this…favor?” Porthos asked before waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. 

Aramis glares at Porthos. “Never you mind about that.” 

Another of d’Artagnan’s old friends, Guilt, returns to join Worry. “But Aramis—” 

Reaching to place a hand on d’Artagnan’s forearm for a moment, Aramis says, “And never _you_ mind either, my friend. It will only be a few hours of my time when I go back for my horse.” 

He’s about to argue with Aramis, when the part about the horse registers in his mind. 

“Back for your horse?” 

Aramis looks down for a moment and scratches at his beard. When he looks up, his expression is one of guilt. “I had to leave my horse behind when I used the secret passageway and then had to borrow a horse on my way out of the city.” 

He sees Porthos’s surprised expression and thinks his looks about the same. 

Porthos laughs. “Isn’t stealing more my thing than yours?”

Aramis’s expression turns indignant. “I didn’t steal the horse; I _borrowed_ it. I’ll put it back where I found it tomorrow.” 

“As if that makes it all alright,” Porthos retorts and then laughs again. 

This time d’Artagnan lets the two men continue bantering as it was helping to keep his mind off the increased guilt he’s feeling over Aramis having to break more than one Commandment in order to meet up with him. It’s also comforting in its own way; lately, the conversation when he’s around has been stilted and awkward more often than not. The flow of their repartee reminds him of the time before his debt to the Cardinal had taken over his life. 

Most importantly, the bantering was providing him a distraction from his worry over Athos. The older man had yet to arrive and the moon had already reached its zenith. 

In his worry, he loses track of what Porthos and Aramis are saying as he begins to imagine various worst-case scenarios, with some focusing on reasons for Athos’s continued absence. By having them followed, was the Cardinal trying to make sure his compliance was genuine and not a ruse? Was Richelieu trying to capture one or more of his friends to force compliance? Had the Red Guards somehow succeeded in capturing Athos? Had Athos run into other trouble along the way? 

“You’re both wrong,” an instantly-recognizable voice in the darkness suddenly said. 

Aramis, being a sharpshooter, had drawn his pistol by the time Athos had finished speaking. Instead of apologizing for pointing his weapon at a friend, Aramis said, “Both wrong? Impossible.” 

Athos stepped closer as they all stood to greet him. 

Porthos grinned and clapped Athos on the shoulder. “You’re late.” 

Athos’s expression was chagrined for a moment. “Yes, well. It couldn’t be helped. And for the record: it was Aramis in Rennes and Porthos in Aix. It was _me_ in Arras.” 

D’Artagnan waits for a reaction to Athos’s words, saying nothing because he’s never been to any of those places. He’s always been a little jealous of how much the three men have gone through together before he came along, but this time he doesn’t care. He’s beyond relieved Athos is finally there with them and seems to be unharmed. 

Aramis eventually shrugs his shoulders and says, “Huh. I guess it _is_ possible for both of us to be wrong.” 

Porthos chuckles. “At least once.” 

Athos seems like he’s trying to refrain from rolling his eyes. 

Before he can ask where Athos was, the man says, “We’ve much to talk about and discuss and less time than I’d like to do it. How about I start by explaining my tardiness? Later, will one of you inform me of what I’ve missed before I arrived?” 

Porthos and Aramis both nod their agreement, while d’Artagnan starts to get nervous about how it will soon be his turn to explain things. 

“I went straight to a tavern I knew several other Musketeers liked to frequent and hoped one of them would be there. Le Hyre was there, and I asked him to take my horse with him when he returned to the garrison.” Athos lifted his right hand to rub his forehead. “The Red Guard had followed me in by the time I’d started drinking one of the two bottles of wine that I’d ordered. I’d nearly finished the bottle when good fortune smiled upon me. Several of the other customers decided to start a brawl, and I managed to slip out of the tavern after the Red Guard was pulled into it. I made my way to the closest of the garrison’s reserve stables, and the rest you can guess.” 

“Feeling hungover?” Aramis asked. 

Athos brought his hands up to rub his eyes. “A little. It’s been a while since I last drank that much wine in one sitting.” 

Porthos gestures for them to sit, and Athos moves to lean against part of the rock formation. 

Aramis hands Athos a canteen of water, and the man takes several mouthfuls of it before handing it back. 

D’Artagnan knows he should say something, but finds himself hesitating, wondering if he’ll be able to finish his tale before the others wash their hands of him. 

After another minute of awkward silence, Athos turns toward him and says, “Perhaps you can tell us why the Cardinal is suddenly having Red Guards shadow us.” 

 

ooooooo 

Story Note: Madame Marchand and her five small, irritating dogs were mentioned in episode 1.08 “The Challenge.” 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Sixteen: The Confession_

**ooooooo**


	16. The Confession

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Sixteen: The Confession**

_“Perhaps you can tell us why the Cardinal is suddenly having Red Guards shadow us._ ” 

The time had come for him to confess all, and perhaps lose everything in the telling. It seems the Cardinal has backed him into a corner he could no longer abide remaining. 

“I have an idea why, but…” D’Artagnan took a deep breath and let it out as he lifted a hand to rub at the tense muscles of his neck. “To understand why, I need to go back to the beginning *****.” 

“You mean Adam and Eve? I think we all—” 

“Aramis,” Athos said, sending a glare the man’s way. 

“My apologies,” Aramis said. “I was only trying—” 

“And failing,” Porthos added before chuckling. 

“Yes, thank you, Porthos. I don’t need—” 

“Gentlemen,” Athos said, sounding irritated. 

Looking chastised, Aramis apologizes and encourages d’Artagnan to continue.

And so he does just that. 

D’Artagnan speaks haltingly at first, but gains confidence as he goes on despite the continued worry over how the older men will react to his confession. He begins with the first meeting with Cardinal Richelieu. Then follows it with everything – or nearly everything – he’s gone through since then. 

Being shocked by the summons to Richelieu’s office and dealing with the burden of his family’s debt. Feeling shame because of that debt and divulging how it had kept him silent about his problems. Knowing from the beginning he was not going to be able to repay all of the money, but being determined to try anyway. Realizing the Cardinal was using the situation as a form of revenge for his part in what happened with the Queen. Struggling to pay the installments every week and some, but not all, of the sacrifices he’d made to do so. Detesting himself for continually lying to his best friends and everyone else about what was going on in his life. Hating how he’s had to keep everyone at arm’s length in order to keep his secrets, yet believing it was for the best that he did in order to protect his friends. Admitting to what had really happened when the injury on his arm had reopened by doing that “favor” for the Cardinal. 

What he doesn’t mention are the numbers involved. The amount of his family’s debt, the amount of the down payment, or the amount he is required to pay weekly, not including the interest. The number of weeks of installments the family heirloom he sold bought him. The additional weeks he got by no longer paying for things like laundry or repairs to his equipment. The total number of times he’d experienced guilt, shame, or lack of self-worth. The many times he felt as if he was losing everything, losing his friends, or losing himself these past months. The insufficient amount of words he’d used while writing the farewell letter to Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. The growing weight of the guilt resting upon his shoulders for all of his mistakes and lies. The increasing worry and anxiety over losing his friends after everything was said and done, regardless of the outcome. 

Finally, after God knew how long and several mostly-ignored, quickly- shushed outbursts, d’Artagnan gets to the point where he needs to describe the events that had led to the four of them meeting at a mostly-hidden, rarely-used campsite. 

D’Artagnan pauses in his story, not quite certain how to continue as there are details he believed the others didn’t need to know, such as leaving his sword behind so it wouldn’t be confiscated when he was thrown in prison. He paces back and forth over the area, trying to gather his thoughts, sensing the older men are barely holding back their comments and questions. Finally, before resuming speaking, he runs a hand through his hair and then uses it to briefly massage the tense muscles at his neck. 

“Having another, larger, shortfall with this last installment, I thought the meeting with Cardinal Richelieu would go one of two ways: I would immediately get sent to prison, or would be asked to do another mostly-harmless favor to make it up. Instead…” D’Artagnan’s shoulders slump and he sits back down in a way that feels like little more than controlled falling. He puts his head in his hands and rubs at his face before sighing and resuming speaking. Suddenly, he feels exhausted and just wants to curl up under the nearby overhang and sleep for a day – or three. “Well, let’s just say that the favor wasn’t as harmless as being the Red Guards’ punching bag for a day.” 

“He asked you to kill,” Athos said. 

D’Artagnan chuckles; even to his ears it sounds completely mirthless. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? The first time he asked for a favor I said I wouldn’t kill for him. Richelieu commented that it said a lot about my character for me to assume that.” 

“Considering we all”—Porthos looks at Aramis, who nods his agreement—“thought the same thing, I’d say—” 

“That it says more about his character than mine,” d’Artagnan finishes and smiles slightly. “I had the exact same thought at the time.” 

“Then, if he didn’t ask you to kill, what _did_ he ask you to do?” Aramis asked. 

“He wants me to steal information from Captain Tréville’s office, though he didn’t tell me what until after I agreed to do it.” 

“What information?” Athos asks. 

“Richelieu didn’t ask for anything specific. He just wants everything the Captain has about Sweden *****.” 

“Sweden?” Porthos asked, looking confused. 

D’Artagnan shrugged. “I have no idea why, and he wasn’t about to explain.” 

Athos lifted a hand to stroke his beard for a long moment before saying, “I have heard rumors of a treaty…” 

“But that makes no sense,” Aramis said. “Sweden is a Protestant nation. Why would Richelieu want a treaty?” 

“Politics. Though Richelieu is Catholic and a Cardinal, he is also First Minister of France. Sometimes politics must trump religion.”—Athos shrugged—“It’s possible he might be plotting against the Hapsburgs; their territory and influence basically surrounds France.” 

“But we don’t know that’s what he’s doing,” Aramis said. “France might want the treaty, but we have no idea if the Cardinal is for or against one.” 

“Either way, I had the feeling that this latest favor was both a trick and a trap,” d’Artagnan said, before adding, “Revenge.” 

“That much is obvious,” Porthos said. “Richelieu’s still a mite angry with us over that thing with the Queen.” 

“Every scenario I could think of ended up being lose-lose.”—d’Artagnan sighed—“If he’s setting me up for treason, it would mean death. If he wants the information to set up another Savoy”—He sends an apologetic look towards Aramis—“then Musketeers’ lives are at stake. He could be using me to lure you in and make a clean sweep in terms of revenge. There’s no way of knowing what his plans are, but this time—” 

“This time,” Athos interrupted, “he’s making sure we’re all being watched and tightly controlling information, making it difficult to counter any of his plans against us.” 

D’Artagnan couldn’t help but be warmed by the fact that Athos still considered him a part of “us.” 

“Then what options do we have?” Aramis asked. 

“Not many at the moment,” Athos said, before glancing at Aramis. “You, me, and Porthos will need to quietly return to Paris before the sun rises. Assuming they’re still where we left them, we need to reacquire our Red Guard tails to reduce suspicion, hopefully stagger our return times to the Garrison but still make it on time to muster. 

“D’Artagnan you have the most leeway in terms of timing, but make sure you return by the same road you used to leave Paris.”—Athos tiredly rubbed at his eyes—“We must continue to act as we have been lately so the Cardinal continues to think he is in control. When I return, I’ll discuss the situation with Tréville and see what he thinks. Thoughts?” 

Aramis and Porthos shake their heads, indicating they have nothing to add. 

“I, uh, have one week to get the information, but another installment will also be due. The problem is I’m broke until we are paid our next stipend.” He hangs his head for a moment before shifting his left hand to touch a part of his pauldron. “Even if I do give the Cardinal the information he wants, I’m still going to lose my commission and end up in prison – or be forced to do another favor.” 

“Never going to happen,” Aramis says. 

"I’m so glad you have such confidence in our non-existent plan, but I still owe the Crown and when I can’t pay my—” 

“Job 1:21; The Lord gives and the Lord takes away”—Aramis shrugs—“Or, in this instance, the King. Only the King can take away your commission.” 

“What? But…he…” 

“It’s true, d’Artagnan,” Athos said. “The Cardinal does not have any say over Musketeer commissions.” 

“So, he lied.”—He lets out a sound of frustration—“Of course, he lied. I’m so—” 

Porthos reaches over to smack d’Artagnan’s knee. “Hey! You’re not stupid. Richelieu was just making sure the stakes were as high as they could be.” 

“He knows how important your commission is to you and used that fact against you,” Aramis added. 

Athos hummed thoughtfully. “Though it makes you wonder what else the Cardinal lied about.” 

D’Artagnan momentarily froze at Athos’s words, and thought: _What indeed?_

“D’Artagnan, would you mind keeping watch so we can get a few hours of sleep?” 

“No problem, Athos. It’s the least I can do.” 

“You don’t owe us for helping a friend,” Porthos said as Aramis and Athos nodded their agreement. 

He was left speechless, and thankful he was still considered their friend, while watching the three older men started to settle down to get some sleep. Suddenly, something that had been nagging him came to mind. 

“Athos? Can I ask a quick question?” 

“Of course,” Athos said, sitting up just enough to lean on one elbow. 

“How did you three know about this place?” 

Porthos and Aramis, both looking more than ready to sleep, groan in exasperation before sending a pointed look towards Athos. 

“I’m afraid the answer to that question will not be so quick.”

 

ooooooo

 

 **Chapter Notes** **:**

**_“…to the beginning.” “You mean Adam and Eve?”_** **:**    The first verse of the Bible is: “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.” (Genesis 1:1 (KJV)). However, since Athos is asking about the Red Guards (i.e. people), I decided Aramis would consider “beginning” in this case to refer to the first people mentioned by name, i.e. Adam and Eve (Gen. 2:19 and Gen. 3:20 respectively).

 ** _Sweden_** **:**   Originally, the subject of the information d’Artagnan was supposed to steal wasn’t going to be detailed and basically be a MacGuffin (i.e. something that serves merely as a trigger for the plot), but obviously my plans changed over time. I did a little bit of research on the Thirty Years’ War (1618-1648) with the hope I’d find something to inspire me, and decided Sweden fit the bill. Though representing a Catholic France, Cardinal Richelieu, in his role as First Minister played politics and supported the Protestant Swedish in order to try and weaken the Hapsburgs (Holy Roman Empire), who basically controlled much of Europe at the time. The Treaty of Västerås between France and Sweden was agreed upon on 5 March 1630. Not quite the right timeline for the show, but then again, I never said this story would be historically accurate. :o)  

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Seventeen: The Answer: Part One_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lingering migraine prevented my usual final read through; I apologize if more mistakes than usual remained.


	17. The Answer, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Please Note*** This chapter is from Athos’s POV and is primarily a series of flashbacks filling in details about what Athos, Porthos, and Aramis have been doing behind the scenes.  
> .

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Seventeen: The Answer, Part One**

**_(Previously…)_ ** _  
_

_“How did you three know about this place?” [d’Artagnan asks.]  
_

_Porthos and Aramis, both looking more than ready to sleep, groan in exasperation before sending a pointed look towards Athos.  
_

_“I’m afraid the answer to that question will not be so quick.”_

ooooooo 

**_(Present time…)_**

Athos sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before using his right hand to briefly apply pressure to them. By the time he’d opened his eyes once more, he’d reached a decision. 

“Aramis, Porthos, go ahead and get some sleep. I’ll answer d’Artagnan’s question.” 

His young friend shifts, looking uncomfortable and apologetic at the same time. “Athos, no. I can wait unt—” 

Athos holds up a hand. “Peace, d’Artagnan.” Focusing on Porthos and Aramis, he gestures towards the other end of the campsite, closer to the horses, and adds, “We’ll go over there and attempt to be quiet so you can get some rest.” 

“Are you sure?” Aramis asked at the same time Porthos said, “You need your sleep too.” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Athos replied before gesturing towards his face. “Besides, at least I’ll truly look the part of someone having supposedly spent a night drinking until drunk.” 

Both Porthos and Aramis grin as they settle down to try and get some sleep. 

D’Artagnan followed along behind him as he led the way towards the entrance of the campsite, where they were partially sheltered by the bushes. As they sit, Athos is convinced the younger man will not like a good portion of what he was about to hear. He’s still not convinced they’d made the right decision regarding their course of action over the past months. 

Thinking there might be more than one outburst of anger or surprise from d’Artagnan, Athos said, “In order to tell you how we knew about this place, I need to inform you of some other things you need to know. Do you think you will be able to contain yourself until I am finished?” 

“I can’t promise anything other than I’ll try.” 

Athos clapped d’Artagnan on the shoulder. “That is all I ask.”

 

ooooooo 

**_(Flashbacks to prior weeks…)_**

ooooooo

 

Athos was sitting in his room trying to read a book but instead was pondering the time he’d spent with d’Artagnan earlier that day. 

The four of them were supposed to breakfast together, but when the time came, d’Artagnan had not shown up. At the time, they had not worried, thinking the younger man had simply forgotten their appointment. Later, after Porthos and Aramis had left for their mission, he’d seen the young man entering the courtyard through the Garrison’s main gate. Athos was surprised, he’d had no idea when the younger man had left or for what reason – not that he needed to know his friend’s every move. 

Right away he could tell d’Artagnan was distracted and wasn’t really taking notice of his surroundings. He called his brother’s name, but d’Artagnan did not hear him or notice him until he caught up and grabbed hold of the Gascon’s arm. Something was definitely bothering his friend and the man was failing to hide it. He considered asking d’Artagnan what was on his mind, but decided to wait and see if the distraction continued for longer than the current day. 

ooooooo 

Staring into the fire as he sat in the mess nursing a cup of ale, Athos tried and failed to keep his thoughts from straying towards his idiot friend and brother. Once again, the Gascon had been distracted, enough that it showed in his performance as they sparred. D’Artagnan was making mistakes he hadn’t made since they first began to spar on a regular basis, not to mention other rookie mistakes that had previously been corrected. 

Something was off about his brother, yet d’Artagnan seemed disinclined to talk about it even after Athos subtly dropped offers that he was willing to do so into more than one conversation. After everything they’d been through together, he was having a difficult time not being offended that d’Artagnan seemed no longer willing to confide in him. D’Artagnan had once admitted he considered Athos his best friend, but now they barely spoke about anything that was not related to duty. It was as if the younger man no longer cared about those who cared about him. 

He knew it was not something he overtly acknowledged, even with his other two brothers, but Athos had finally accepted d’Artagnan as a brother of the heart. Up until recently, it seemed as if d’Artagnan was at least beginning to think the same. Yet, lately… Perhaps he’d been wrong. There were no hard feelings if that was the case, but it stung nonetheless. 

Athos took another drink of his ale and attempted to redirect his suddenly morose thought process. This was not about him, but d’Artagnan, about whom he had a feeling needed help. But, if it was offered outright and refused, then he was afraid d’Artagnan would become even more closed off. In that case, it would be that much more difficult to determine what was going on. 

Porthos and Aramis had yet to speak to him about the subtle changes in d’Artagnan’s demeanor, but he had seen them with considering looks on their faces whenever the younger man left their presence. Perhaps—  

Athos’s reflections were interrupted when Porthos dropped down into the chair beside him. 

“What’s wrong?” the larger man asked. 

“Nothing.” 

“Riiight. So, does this _nothing_ have to do with a certain young Musketeer we both know and care for as a brother?” 

Feeling that Porthos was staring at him, and would not stop until he got an answer, Athos sighed, trying not to roll his eyes. “Fine. _Yes_ , it does have to do with d’Artagnan.” 

“Thought so,” Porthos replied, and from the corner of his eye Athos could see that his friend looked far too smug. 

Athos sipped his ale to prevent him from saying the first sarcastic and cutting thing that had come to his mind. He didn’t need to take his worry over their younger brother out on Porthos. 

“Aramis is concerned too. We want to know if you had any idea what was going on.” 

“He hasn’t said anything to me yet.” 

“Have you asked?” 

Athos rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache was developing, and sighed once more. “Not directly, but I know he won’t talk if he’s confronted or forced either. Have you tried?” 

“Aramis did a couple of times,” Porthos said as he leaned forward in his chair. “It didn’t go well.” 

“Evasive?” 

“Yeah, and except for missions, we’ve seen even less of him since then.” 

Athos was not really surprised by that information. As the weeks have gone by since he first noticed something was wrong with d’Artagnan, the younger man has made excuse after excuse for not joining them when off duty. It was one of the things which had tipped him off in the first place. 

His headache increased slightly as he came up with an idea he really didn’t like, one that might eventually destroy their friendship with the Gascon. Yet, he felt it was something he had to do in order to keep d’Artagnan alive. 

After finishing his cup of ale in one large gulp of the liquid, Athos shifted in his chair to face Porthos and told the larger man his plan. 

The idea was not well received at first, but eventually Porthos and Aramis saw the wisdom in it despite its inherent underhandedness. Athos figured he would eventually be able to live with the guilt and hoped d’Artagnan would forgive him. 

ooooooo 

Soon enough, his plan bore fruit, though it was entirely by accident. 

The idea had been simple: observation. The underhanded part was that the three of them, when duty allowed, would follow d’Artagnan outside of the Garrison in an attempt to figure out what had caused the younger man to change so much over recent weeks. 

Thus far, neither he nor Aramis or Porthos had observed any unusual activity – except for one thing. One day a week d’Artagnan had been seen leaving the Garrison during the middle of the night and then essentially disappearing until muster the next morning. Due to the younger man’s extreme vigilance, and varied timing as well as routes, they had yet to discover where their friend was going other than the general direction. It was suspicious, but it wasn’t as if the Gascon didn’t have a right to go where he wanted when not on duty. 

D’Artagnan had eventually, reluctantly confided in him about what turned out to be a weekly rendezvous with a woman his brother had met in the marketplace. Over several meetings d’Artagnan and Rachelle had developed an understanding which included him spending the night once a week.   

It appeared d’Artagnan was slowly getting over Constance, but Athos felt something was off with his friend’s story, especially with Rachelle, since he had yet to meet her or witness any of their meetings. It was almost as if d’Artagnan felt guilty or was ashamed of the relationship. Maybe the Gascon had fallen for another married woman? 

Then, very early – _too early_ – one day, Captain Tréville sent a note from the palace asking for him to deliver some papers that had inadvertently been left behind. Due to the sensitive nature of their contents, a recruit could not be entrusted to the task. Among other things, Athos grumbled the whole way there about the early hour and forgetful superior officers. 

On his way out of the palace, after making his delivery, Athos was just turning a corner when he spotted a sight which made him pull back in surprise and conceal himself. 

At first, he thought Tréville had forgotten something else, but then he realized d’Artagnan had been coming from the direction of the Cardinal’s private office. As far as he was aware, his friend had no reason to have been visiting Richelieu, and wasn’t this the day d’Artagnan usually spent time with Rachelle? 

Rachelle…

Athos mentally groaned at the thought which next came into his mind. If he was right… _Clever, clever Gascon_ , he thought. It had been right under his nose for weeks now. 

If he was right, then Rachelle didn’t exist, and d’Artagnan’s supposed new relationship, was instead a cover for something going on between his brother and Richelieu. 

But what? And why? 

Surprisingly, and considering his past with his wife, Athos never once believed d’Artagnan was betraying him or the Musketeers. He was absolutely certain something else was going on. 

From the glimpses he caught of the younger man as he continued to follow along behind from a fair distance, it was plain to Athos that a heavy burden had settled upon d’Artagnan’s shoulders. His friends’ expression was dejected and forlorn, though the moment the Gascon stepped outdoors, it cleared, and d’Artagnan looked as happy and content as he ever was. Yet, to his practiced eye, d’Artagnan’s face still seemed as haunted as it had recently, and regularly, become. 

At least now he had an idea of what, or rather _who_ , had been burdening his brother for weeks now. It was likely that Richelieu was holding something over d’Artagnan’s head; the only question was what. He resolved to talk to Porthos and Aramis about the situation as soon as he was able.

Athos slowed his steps even more so he would not run into d’Artagnan in the stables. It seemed good fortune had smiled upon him earlier when he had to ride one of the new spare Musketeer horses instead of his own or one of the ones the Gascon would immediately recognize. 

ooooooo

 

 **( _Present time…_ )**

“You were spying on me?!” d’Artagnan said loud enough that Athos thought the younger man might wake their friends.

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Eighteen: The Answer, Part Two_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split this chapter up, because I hadn’t realized just how much I wanted to cover when I first conceived of it months ago, and it’s been fun finally fleshing out the little clues I’ve dropped throughout regarding what Athos, Porthos, and Aramis having been doing all this time. More flashbacks in the next chapter.


	18. The Answer, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Note: This chapter is from Athos’s POV and is primarily a series of flashbacks filling in details about what Athos, Porthos, and Aramis have been doing behind the scenes.  
> .

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Eighteen: The Answer, Part Two**

**( _Present time…_ )**

_“You were spying on me?!” d’Artagnan said loud enough that Athos thought the younger man might wake their friends._    

Athos held up a hand and gestured towards where Porthos and Aramis were hopefully still getting some sleep. 

D’Artagnan immediately looked contrite, though still upset, before continuing in a lower tone of voice, “You were following me!” 

“On that particular day? No. Coming across you that morning was pure happenstance.” 

“But—” 

“Please, d’Artagnan. You said you would contain yourself until the end.” 

D’Artagnan put his hands on his hips and looked down for a moment. Sounding peevish, the Gascon said, “I said I would try.” 

Athos knew d’Artagnan would be angry with him – them – for keeping tabs and trying to work out what the younger man was too stubborn to ask for help about, yet he was too tired to argue at the moment. 

“Well, then… Try…harder?” he said, trying not to wince over what his tired mind had come up with as a counter-argument. 

His brother stared at him for a moment before throwing up his hands in frustration. “Fine.” 

“Thank you.” Athos said, beyond relieved. He was hoping to avoid the whole matter about them spying on d’Artagnan for just a little while longer. 

ooooooo 

**_(Flashbacks to prior weeks…)_**

ooooooo 

Seeing d’Artagnan fall from his horse during battle almost made his heart stop. Not being able to stop and render aid, and having to continue the fight against Baron Grailly’s forces, nearly finished the job. It made him, and likely Aramis and Porthos, fight all the harder even as worry for his younger brother lodged in his throat. 

When all was said and done and the battle was over, with men dead and dying strewn all over the ground, Athos only cared about one particular man. Aramis reached their friend moments before he did and gave him some of the best news he’d ever heard – d’Artagnan was alive. Unconscious, and bleeding from a gunshot wound to the arm, but definitely alive. 

However, the younger man’s wound was not the only factor in the heart-stopping fall to the ground. While Porthos was taking care of the horses as a distraction from worry and the day’s events, the larger man discovered that the stirrup d’Artagnan had stood on to return fire had come apart at the seams and gave way. In fact, according to the larger man, most of d’Artagnan’s tack and other gear were showing signs of wear to a degree that no Musketeer would normally tolerate. In the past, d’Artagnan had been quite scrupulous about taking care of his own equipment; including paying for repairs he was not adept at making himself. Athos couldn’t help wondering if something hadn’t happened to the younger man’s finances that he couldn’t pay for necessary repairs or replacements. A lack of funds would explain why d’Artagnan no longer joined them at any of the taverns. 

Of course, d’Artagnan’s run of bad luck continued when he developed a raging fever as a result of his wound. At one point, the Gascon was extremely delirious and rambling aloud semi-coherent thoughts. Some of the words spoken caught his attention, which had him asking his friend multiple questions. The answers were not entirely clear, but some of his lingering questions were answered. 

Rachelle was indeed Richelieu, and the man was holding something over d’Artagnan. Given the Gascon’s guilt over it, it sounded like a debt of honor, something to do with money. There was also something about a broken promise and shame about something precious to the younger man’s family. 

Interrogating someone on the precipice between life and death was not one of Athos’s life ambitions, but he felt he had to take advantage of the situation for _when_ – _not_ _if_ – d’Artagnan survived his ordeal. His brother remembered nothing of what he’d said or was asked while feverish, which gave Athos and the others the opportunity to keep working behind the scenes in order to help the stubborn Gascon. It did not, however, lessen the amount of guilt he felt for what he had done, and Athos hoped might be forgiven when the whole story was revealed. 

From d’Artagnan’s poorly-hidden panic over how long they had been away from Paris, whatever Richelieu had over d’Artagnan was dependent on time. Could that be what the weekly disappearances were about? Was some form of blackmail involved? Did that explain the seeming lack of funds his friend was experiencing? 

During their return journey, his brother continues to recover physically, but mentally is a whole other story. D’Artagnan seems…diminished…in spirit, as if devoid of any positive emotions. It was possible it had something to do with the younger man’s recovery, but Athos had a feeling it was something having to do with whatever was going on between d’Artagnan and Richelieu. 

He resolved to try and get d’Artagnan to join him, Porthos, and Aramis out to a tavern, partly to test his theory about the money and partly because the younger man could do with some fun. 

Besides, he was starting to miss the younger man’s company, though he’d only admit that fact under torture. 

ooooooo 

The next night, a night when d’Artagnan did not typically leave the garrison for a supposed rendezvous with Rachelle, the Gascon leaves around two in the morning, according to nearby church bells. Athos believes it will be simple, that all he need do was follow the Gascon to the palace, but that’s not where the road takes him. 

Instead, d’Artagnan leads him out of the city where he has to be even more careful while following his young friend. Eventually, the Gascon leaves the main road, causing him to hang back even further lest he be discovered. Because of that, he loses track of d’Artagnan. 

It’s frustrating because he knows this road, though less travelled, eventually connects with another, yet somehow d’Artagnan managed to evade him. As he heads back towards the garrison, Athos resolves to try and discover how his brother had managed to disappear so thoroughly. Athos detests the thought of d’Artagnan having to exile himself once a week in order to cater to whatever type of revenge Richelieu has enacted. 

He informs Aramis and Porthos of his nighttime excursion, and they all wonder about the change in schedule. They all agree that the next time any of them has the opportunity, they would attempt to find out what happened and to where d’Artagnan had disappeared. 

ooooooo 

Athos had considered that d’Artagnan might be late to meet up with Aramis due to the meeting with Richelieu, but he had not expected the younger man to not show up at all. Granted, they were all off duty for the day, and the Gascon had the right to go wherever he pleased for as long as he pleased when not required to be at the Garrison, but the longer his brother was absent, the more his gut churned with worry. 

After another hour of waiting, he, Aramis, and Porthos split up in an attempt to find their wayward brother-in-arms. Eventually, Athos realized the futility when he had no idea where d’Artagnan was at the moment or even where to begin searching. The only thing they knew for certain was that d’Artagnan was not still with the Cardinal; currently, Richelieu was in a council meeting with the other ministers of France.  Athos reasoned d’Artagnan had to eventually return to the Garrison, so it seemed only logical for him to wait for the younger man somewhere reasonably comfortable. 

He returned to the Garrison, grabbed a book from his quarters, and went to wait in d’Artagnan’s room, sitting on the man’s bed. Athos was beyond tempted to search the Gascon’s belongings for any clues as to what was happening to d’Artagnan, but he couldn’t bring himself to breach the young man’s trust in that way. Though, if his brother had not returned by nightfall, he would definitely reconsider that stance. 

Over the next hours, Athos received odd looks from the various Musketeers who shared the room with d’Artagnan, but he ignored them all and continued to read his book. When d’Artagnan finally did return, his relief at seeing his friend was immediately quashed when he saw how poorly the man looked. Discovering the blood staining his friend’s shirt in no way helped the situation especially when d’Artagnan lied about how his injury had reopened. 

He was more than thankful for the timing of Aramis and Porthos’s entry into the room; it gave him the opportunity to override d’Artagnan’s objections to getting treated. Aramis’s comment about d’Artagnan’s blood-stained shirt revealed yet another lie, and it only served to help confirm his theory about the Cardinal’s blackmail centering, at least partially, around money. Not only had his brother had to make due in terms of his equipment, but d’Artagnan was also no longer able to adequately provide for his own basic needs. 

Athos wanted to call d’Artagnan out on his lie, but he knew it would only lead to more falsehoods, and perhaps even some words said in the heat of the moment which could not easily be taken back. Given the anger radiating off of Porthos, Athos was aware the larger man had noticed the same things he had. He had no doubt Aramis had seen the same things but the marksman was able to hide it better. His anger, and no doubt that of Porthos and Aramis, only intensifies at the sight of the blood and the bruising littering d’Artagnan’s body.  

Before Porthos can give away anything of what they know, Athos reminds the man about getting the shirt Aramis had offered to d’Artagnan. It’s a near thing, but he manages not to flinch when they all hear Porthos punch a wall in anger. They’ve been reciprocating the level of contact and conversation d’Artagnan has kept up with them, but he doesn’t think Porthos’s outburst hurt that pretense. He just hopes the level of concern they are showing now doesn’t tip d’Artagnan off to the fact the three of them are aware more is going on with the Gascon. 

He helps Aramis treat d’Artagnan’s arm, noticing and trying not to comment when the Gascon keeps a tight hold of the bloodied shirt. There is no conversation, making things quite awkward between all of them. He can see that d’Artagnan is avoiding his gaze and looking uneasy about the whole situation. His brother is probably wondering why he, Aramis, and Porthos continue to care for him despite the ongoing discord between them, which is what they want d’Artagnan to think no matter how much they hate it. 

Athos hates to force the issue, but he has to know what happened to his brother. He has a feeling it has to do with whatever is going on with Richelieu, but needs confirmation before deciding what the next step should be. 

D’Artagnan’s story is so full of holes that, if it had been a bucket, it would have leaked like a sieve. However, the Gascon had no way of knowing Athos was aware of Rachelle’s true identity, which made it easier to detect the lies. He also didn’t know how to feel about the poorly constructed story, though for the most part he was disappointed and trying very hard not to show it. 

His friend had had the perfect opportunity to confess and yet d’Artagnan had instead given them a flimsy story about Red Guards attacking him without provocation. There was some truth to what he and the others had been told, but that truth had been twisted to conceal what really happened. Athos was certain Richelieu and his Red Guards were involved, but the reason given for the new injuries had definitely been fabricated. 

Athos can tell that neither Porthos nor Aramis are convinced by the account they’d just heard; he just hopes the two men don’t give away how much they know regardless of how little that was. Before he could signal them, Aramis asks a question about the main inconsistency. Admittedly, he had also been curious, but had not wanted to alert d’Artagnan that he knew the majority of the information given was falsified. However, Aramis had opened up another opportunity to tell the truth, but the Gascon refused to take it. 

Instead of a confrontation, Athos plays along with d’Artagnan and offers conjecture about the Red Guards wanting a little sport. It takes him nearly losing his temper to get Aramis and Porthos to leave without revealing any more inconsistencies. 

As Porthos and Aramis walk out of the room ahead of him, Athos orders d’Artagnan to get some rest. Given the younger man’s expression – a mixture of confusion, hurt, and relief – Athos felt guilty for leaving his brother alone that like that. What he wanted most was for everything to back to the way it used to be before Cardinal Richelieu had set out to ruin d’Artagnan’s life. However, having that wish fulfilled any time soon seemed impossible for the moment. 

ooooooo 

Two days later, Porthos comes to him with news: d’Artagnan has a hideout. It’s a campsite that seems to be almost entirely hidden by a thicket of bushes that you have to practically stumble upon to find. Knowing it wasn’t a night d’Artagnan was away from the garrison, and given the late hour, Porthos had decided to stay the night at the campsite. Apparently, out of all the times d’Artagnan had used the place, there was no evidence of any fire that had been lit, or for that matter, how often it had been occupied. Aware that he would not be able to hide his presence at the campsite, Porthos had gone ahead and lit a fire to cook the rabbit he’d shot. 

Athos was pleased they finally knew where d’Artagnan hid himself away from the world, yet it distressed him that his brother had never once allowed himself the comfort of a fire. At least they now had a pretty good idea of where they could find him in an emergency. 

ooooooo 

**( _Present time…_ )**

“So you’ve known where my campsite was for a few weeks now?” 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Nineteen: The Answer, Part Three_

**ooooooo**


	19. The Answer, Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note** This is the last of the chapters from Athos’s POV. As before, it’s primarily a series of flashbacks filling in details about what Athos, Aramis, and Porthos have been doing behind the scenes.  
> .

**ooooooo**

**Chapter Nineteen: The Answer, Part Three**

**( _Present time…_ )**

_“So you’ve known where my campsite was for a few weeks now?”_

Athos’s left eyebrow rises of its own accord. D’Artagnan had agreed to try harder to contain his outbursts and questions, but obviously the truths the younger man was learning made it difficult to comply. He sympathized, but he was tired and just wanted to finish his tale so he could get some rest before heading back to Paris. 

He’s about to speak when d’Artagnan realizes what he’s done and raises his hands in surrender. “My apologies. Continue.” 

Athos smiled slightly and nodded. Apparently, the stubborn Gascon was still capable of reigning himself in. 

ooooooo 

**_(Flashbacks to prior weeks…)_**

ooooooo 

Athos was just about to unbuckle his sword belt when Aramis barged into his room holding a small bundle of fabric. 

“Aramis, to what do I owe the pleasure of your unannounced visit?” he asked, feeling annoyed by the interruption after the long day they’d had. 

Aramis ignored the mild rebuke, and thrust the bundle in his arms out towards him. “Our stubborn Gascon has returned the shirt I “loaned” to him.” 

Athos couldn’t help but feel disappointed their ploy had failed, even though he had been fairly certain it would from the outset. With the realization that d’Artagnan was lacking the funds to properly care for his equipment, Athos had begun paying attention to what else had been effected aside from the lack of d’Artagnan’s company when they went out to a tavern. It wasn’t long before the three of them had noticed d’Artagnan, who had never had much in the way of clothing, only had one shirt left after their mission to bring in Grailly. Only those who knew the younger man well would notice such a thing, and they had definitely noticed. 

Knowing how easily their clothing could be damaged or ruined due to life as a Musketeer, Porthos suggested they buy a shirt for d’Artagnan and give it to him. The three of them chipped in money and bought a shirt only to realize they had no legitimate reason to gift it to d’Artagnan in a way that wouldn’t seem like charity and therefore not be accepted. Their brother’s birthday was months away as was Christmas. Unable to come up with a good reason, they set aside the shirt and waited for an opportunity to present itself. 

When their opportunity came, Aramis had offered up one of “his” shirts for d’Artagnan to “borrow.” Athos hoped the Gascon might forget to return the shirt; it wasn’t as if it hasn’t happened before. Athos still had one of Aramis’s shirts that he now only wore when he was assigned to training at the Garrison. 

With the other shirt likely permanently stained with blood, and consequently unacceptable for duty at the palace, Athos knew d’Artagnan would need to buy a new one. He had believed his friend lacked sufficient funds to buy a new shirt, and thought it the perfect time to let d’Artagnan “borrow” the one they’d bought. He’d thought _borrowing_ would eventually become _keeping_ , but d’Artagnan being the stubborn, yet honorable man he was obviously couldn’t abide the idea and had gone out to procure a new shirt. 

D’Artagnan must have gone to the marketplace while he, Porthos, and Aramis had been assigned a quick mission not far from Paris. Their young brother was not left behind for any reason but to ensure d’Artagnan’s wound had a chance to fully heal. However, he’d still be uneasy about being separated from his friend after what had happened with the Red Guards. 

Aramis speaking again breaks him out of his thoughts. “He returned the shirt to me while you were reporting in to Tréville – and it’s freshly laundered.” 

The sharpshooter flourishes the shirt, allowing him to smell the rosemary Aramis’s preferred laundress uses. If you look hard enough, you can find a deal on anything, but Athos was very aware d’Artagnan could ill afford to spend his money on a new shirt, let alone in conjunction with getting the other one laundered. 

“We just got our stipend, so that must be how he paid for it, but how much will it cost our friend in the end?”—Aramis ran a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration—“He could’ve confided in us, asked us for help. Are we not his brothers?” 

“We’ve been through this before, Aramis. D’Artagnan had the chance to come clean and instead he told us a flimsy lie about the attack on his person. You could see that even he knew how flimsy it was.”—Athos unbuckled his sword belt and laid it on his bed—“I believe if we had confronted him on that lie, we might have lost him entirely, and I for one, cannot abide that possibility. There will come a point in all this when he will not be able to find a way forward by himself. We will be there for him when that time comes.” 

Athos walked over to a table under the window and lifted up a bottle of wine, quirking his eyebrow up in silent question. Aramis nodded and said, “Do you think he’s somehow being a self-sacrificing idiot?” 

He handed over a newly poured cup of wine, and replied, “It would not surprise me in the least.”—Athos gulped down half the liquid and sighed—“I have a feeling things will be coming to a head quite soon.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

ooooooo 

Over the past several days, Athos has noticed something odd about d’Artagnan’s behavior which scares him more than he’d like to admit – even to himself. 

He can’t attribute it to any one thing that d’Artagnan does or doesn’t do, but somehow the various pieces of his brother’s behavior combine to create a complete picture. That picture is something which reminds him of what he’d said to Aramis only days ago: _I have a feeling things will be coming to a head quite soon_. 

If he were to describe the change, he would say that d’Artagnan was making plans to say goodbye. That didn’t scare him half as much as what he had the feeling d’Artagnan was farewelling: life. His friend had the same look in his eyes that he’d seen on those who knew they were dying. 

He wanted to deny what he was seeing.  He wanted to believe he was imagining things. He wanted to believe that, in such dire straits, d’Artagnan would come to him, but so far, that had not happened. 

Athos had spoken to both Porthos and Aramis; they too could tell something was off, but they didn’t see what he was seeing. They tried to convince him he was reading too much into the younger man’s actions, and it caused him to doubt. Enough doubt that he didn’t confront d’Artagnan and instead decided to keep to the wait-and-see attitude that his two other friends had adopted. His gut knew this was the wrong tact, but Denial can be a powerful thing, and he allowed it to overcome his misgivings. 

On the day he knows d’Artagnan is going to visit the Cardinal, Athos eventually notices one important detail: his brother had left his horse behind. Heart in throat, he asks Jacques if the horse was ailing in some way, but it’s not. That’s when he realized he’d been right to worry about d’Artagnan’s behavior and the horse only proved it. The Gascon’s horse was one of the very few things the younger man had from his old life, so unless the animal were injured or overworked, d’Artagnan would never leave it behind. The only explanation was that d’Artagnan thought he wouldn’t be coming back and wanted to make sure it had a good home. 

He cursed himself for not going with his gut, and he cursed himself for not keeping as close a watch on d’Artagnan since they figured out to where he was disappearing. If he had, then maybe he could’ve stopped the younger man from leaving. He tries not to think that he might not see his brother alive again. 

Immediately, he goes to inform Aramis and Porthos about d’Artagnan’s horse still being in the stables when the younger man had already left for the palace. The two look instantly contrite as they realize he had been right about the strange behavior. They wanted to storm the palace looking for their brother, but Athos knew it would be futile; Richelieu had long ago learned how to disappear people. For the moment, they could only wait and pray that d’Artagnan would return to the Garrison whole and hale, even as they feared it would never happen. 

Athos was keeping a lookout for d’Artagnan while Porthos and Aramis were inside the mess grabbing something to eat before they were due at the Palace. They offered to get him something, but his appetite had left him hours ago. While he was waiting, the kitchen boy places a bowl of apples out on the table, evidently assuming d’Artagnan would be there, and Athos couldn’t help thinking of his absent friend. 

As if drawn by the apples, d’Artagnan suddenly rides through the main gate, looking lost in thought.  So lost in thought that Athos believes a cannon could go off right next to him and the younger man would not notice. Once the Gascon hands the reserve mount over to Jacques, who leads it away towards the barn, d’Artagnan begins walking towards the main stables. He calls out the younger man’s name, but it seems d’Artagnan is incapable of hearing anyone at the moment. 

Athos was well aware of how the act of taking care of his horse allows d’Artagnan to find calm in the midst of the storms of life. He wants to go to his friend, yet realizes he needs to hold back – at least for a few minutes. He knew that d’Artagnan needed some time to find some peace via caring for the horse. 

Soon he needed to gauge for himself how his friend was faring and decide if the younger man was in any shape for duty at the palace. The Gascon had thankfully come back to them physically whole and hale, but mentally appeared to be a different story. But first, he needed to let his friends know their wayward brother had returned. 

Deciding it would be useless to call out d’Artagnan’s name, Athos instead moved into his proximity, waiting to see if he’d be noticed. He wasn’t so he stepped into his friend’s line of sight. The younger man asked him what he’s doing there, but he doesn’t answer right away. He follows d’Artagnan to the equipment bench and offers the apple he’d grabbed before heading towards the stables. 

When his brother looks at the apple like it might jump up and bite him, Athos has to wonder just how bad things had gotten. Did d’Artagnan believe he and the others no longer cared enough to want to make sure he’d had something to eat? He stares pointedly at the apple until the Gascon takes the hint and starts eating it. 

It wasn’t until he was already on his way to the stables that Athos had decided to confess that he and the others knew something of what was going on between the younger man and Richelieu. He probably should’ve talked it over with Porthos and Aramis first, but apple in hand and thinking of how he might have lost his brother, a dam broke inside him. He could no longer stand by and lose another brother if he could help it. 

D’Artagnan saying that he’d had overmuch on his mind lately gave him an opportunity to clue the Gascon in on the fact he was aware more was going on than being distracted. Mindful of his surroundings, he doesn’t give away anything by his words, but rather the tone of them, praying d’Artagnan really does know him as well as past experience has shown. 

When d’Artagnan looks around, leans in, and quietly says “ _I have a problem and need your help_ ,” Athos doesn’t know how to feel. All he knows is that the time has finally come to get his brother back.  

Athos tugs on his ear lobe for a moment and then briefly glances over towards Jacques to indicate he was worried about being overheard if they were to attempt a longer conversation. When d’Artagnan dips his chin downward minutely in response, he mentally sighs in relief. He hates that he has to do this next part, but he must if he wants to help rid d’Artagnan of the Cardinal’s manipulations. 

Mouthing the words _trust me_ , he then says something he doesn’t mean but still regrets, and walks away, forcing himself to act fed up and angry. If he knows d’Artagnan like he does, though a pretense, his actions will still hurt his brother. However, the pretense is necessary even if every step away from the younger man likely hurts him just as much.  

ooooooo 

With every step he takes, Athos can feel real anger and frustration awaken within him. Angry at himself for the charade he’s perpetuating and frustration for how long it’s been since he’s been able to have a normal conversation with d’Artagnan. 

He had initially planned to head back towards Porthos and Aramis and inform them of what their friend had said, but suddenly everything becomes too much and he needs help to think clearly. For d’Artagnan, it is horses that help to calm the Gascon’s soul, but for him, it’s the art of swordplay – the strategy involved, the sound of metal striking metal. Abruptly changing course, he instead heads to the practice yard and seeks out an opponent, not caring how skilled they are, but needing to let off a bit of steam so he can regain control of the storm within him. 

Sparring with Blancour was definitely cathartic for him, though his fellow Musketeer might not believe the same of the complete routing that had occurred. The short match had allowed him to regain control of his stormy thoughts, enough that he knows where he must go next. He can see that Aramis and Porthos want to follow him upstairs to the Captain’s office, but Athos deems it too suspicious for them all to go upstairs at the moment and signals for them to wait. 

Thankfully, Tréville, with very little explanation, trusted him enough to follow his lead. The Captain had already been aware there was trouble concerning d’Artagnan, having discussed the situation with him and the others previously. However, without any unforgiveable failures in duty, Tréville had had no real recourse to do anything about it to date, especially if d’Artagnan did not confide in him. Athos was finally able to report how things were at long last coming to a head in that regard and requested that d’Artagnan be reassigned from duty at the palace, preferably something which would take his friend outside of the city. 

Captain Tréville thought a moment before deciding on the change of assignments. The Captain had been about to assign Vouet and Le Nain to deliver a letter to a baron to the southeast of Paris, but now he would have d’Artagnan do it instead. Le Nain and Vouet would now go to the palace with him, Aramis, and Porthos. Athos asked for writing materials and wrote d’Artagnan a short note to accompany the letter before informing Tréville they would all be gone for the night. Athos knew its contents would surprise d’Artagnan and reveal his awareness of the Gascon’s hideout, but it was necessary. They needed privacy and they needed to keep the Cardinal unaware of their meeting; d’Artagnan’s campsite seemed to fit their requirements so long as they could get out of the city unnoticed. 

By the time the five Musketeers were on their way to the palace, Athos could see that Aramis and Porthos are beyond curious as to what had been going on back at the Garrison. Mindful of their surroundings, Athos slowed his horse with both men matching his speed. Quickly, he brought his two brothers up to date, alerting them to their plans for later in the night. No plan survived intact; therefore, they had come up with a couple of alternatives just in case. 

For the rest of the ride towards the palace, Athos focused on two things: suppressing his desire to run his sword through Cardinal Richelieu, and hoping d’Artagnan would forgive him for his actions. 

ooooooo 

**( _Present time…_ )**

“I’m guessing the others filled in the rest, so I believe that takes us back to the present time.”

 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Twenty: The Reaction_

**ooooooo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Please note*** Due to a change in my personal schedule, I’m moving my posting night from Thursdays to Wednesdays starting in September.


	20. The Reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to d’Artagnan’s point of view in this chapter and going forward to the end.  
> .

ooooooo 

**Chapter Twenty: The Reaction**

D’Artagnan had been standing there for God only knew how long listening to Athos’s explanation of events over the past weeks. Now that Athos was finished, d’Artagnan wasn’t really sure how to react due to the conflicting mass of thoughts and emotions whirling around and around inside his head. 

He can see that Athos is waiting for a reaction; from what little expression is filtering through the tiredness on the man’s face, it seems a negative one is expected. When his mind briefly flashes back to all he’s recently been told, he can’t help but live up to expectation. 

Just barely remembering to keep his voice down, d’Artagnan made known his ire, “I can’t believe you’ve been going behind my back this whole time – following me, spying on me!” 

Athos sighed, and d’Artagnan could hear just how exhausted the older man was, which made him feel a bit guilty for keeping his friend from getting any sleep. At this point, Athos would be lucky to get more than a half hour before the three older men had to leave. However, he didn’t feel so guilty that he still didn’t want any answers. 

He was a grown man capable of taking care of his own life except, obviously, when vengeful Cardinals were trying to make him commit treason. Going behind his back like his friends had done _before_ he’d asked them for help made him angry and it felt like they didn’t trust him to make his own decisions. 

“It is your prerogative to be angry at that. However, had you confided in us weeks ago, we would not have been going behind your back but instead we would have been right _beside_ you.” 

“It was personal. My problem, not yours.” 

“Perhaps. However, I suspect at some point you might have considered why Richelieu was taking such a keen interest in an unpaid debt. I think you decided to go it alone because you thought if you kept silent that maybe the Cardinal wouldn’t go after us if the revenge he got on you was drawn out over months.” 

D’Artagnan couldn’t help it; he shifted his weight and broke eye contact, telling Athos all the man needed to know. 

“Keeping what you were going through from us played into his hands, making it easier for him to win. Setting debt repayment terms that any usurer would be jealous of ensured he’d win sooner than later. He’s likely been pushing you towards this end game all along, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he doesn’t have provisions in place in the event you did get us involved.” 

D’Artagnan crossed his arms, and turned his head away from his friend, not wanting to hear all he’d been through alone had been for naught. 

“We’re stronger together. _All for one; one for all_. Surely, you didn’t think we’d let our little brother go without a fi—?” 

Hearing the words “little brother” instantly calmed the storm within him. He’d been so afraid for so long that he had lost his friends and brothers, that hearing he was still wanted by them… 

Without conscious thought, d’Artagnan gave into a sudden urge and wrapped his arms around Athos, attempting to hug the stuffing out of the man. He knew he was partially successful when he caused the man to stumble back a half step. After a brief hesitation, Athos brought his arms up and returned the hug. 

It would take time to get their equilibrium back as friends and brothers, but d’Artagnan felt as if they had finally gotten past the most important hurdles. 

ooooooo 

D’Artagnan’s guess that Athos would only get about a half hour of sleep ended up being mostly correct. He woke Porthos and Aramis first, barely keeping them from waking Athos who had gone to lie down under the shelter of the jutting rock. 

They left Athos to sleep and d’Artagnan went to start taking care of the horses, leaving Aramis and Porthos to fully wake up. He knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the two men for very long, but he wasn’t quite sure what to say to them. He still didn’t like that they went behind his back, but understood their reasons. 

Hearing a noise behind him, he turns and sees Porthos and Aramis walking towards him. An awkward silence stretches out between them as it seems he’s not the only one who doesn’t know what to say. 

Thankfully, Porthos solves their dilemma. 

Gesturing with his thumb back over his shoulder towards where Athos was still hopefully resting, Porthos says, “What he said.” 

It takes d’Artagnan a second or two to parse what the large man said before he replied. “You don’t even know—” 

“We don’t have to,” Aramis said, “but we know him and we know you. And you seem…” Aramis gestures vaguely towards d’Artagnan, while trying to find the word he wants. 

“Less moody,” Porthos interjects. 

Aramis smiles and nods once. “Yes, that.” 

One after the other, both Porthos and Aramis put an arm around his shoulders. Barely a moment later, they each used their free hands to make a mess of his hair. Immediately, he begins to protest, but he’s missed their antics enough that he lets it go this one time, basking in Aramis and Porthos’s friendship. 

By the time they finished saddling the horses, Athos joins them, yawning and definitely looking as if he’d spent the night drinking. Athos claps him on the shoulder, murmuring his gratitude for the help with his horse. 

The three men mount their horses and start to turn towards the road which will take them back to Paris. D’Artagnan fervently hopes they can get back into the city without the Red Guards or the Cardinal ever knowing they’d left. 

Athos turns in his saddle and says, “We will see you back at the Garrison later this afternoon. I’ll speak with Captain Tréville and get him up to speed.” 

At the mention of his captain, d’Artagnan looks down as he feels shame fill him up once more. 

“Hey; none of that. You did the right thing regarding this latest favor Richelieu has asked you to do.” 

D’Artagnan lifted his eyes to meet those of his friends. Seeing how each of their expressions was anything but disappointed, he nodded and smiled slightly. 

Athos tipped his head in acknowledgment and put his hat on as did Aramis and Porthos, who also grinned. 

“The Captain and I,” Athos continued, “will begin discussing options. We’ll find a way to meet in a way that will hopefully not arouse the Cardinal’s suspicions.” 

The three men were about to ride away when d’Artagnan calls out, “Be safe.” 

“You as well,” Aramis says, before kissing his golden cross.

 

ooooooo 

**_Next time_** _: Chapter Twenty-one: The Return_

**ooooooo**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please Note** I’ll be traveling a bit this month, so the next chapter won’t be out for three weeks. Sorry about the extra delay.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for proofing even though it’s her birthday story. Any remaining mistakes are Richelieu’s fault. ;o)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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